Forget for a While
by Kanotari
Summary: My personal take on a three years fic. An original description, I know.
1. The Deal

Chapter 1: The Deal

"And a walk-off homer for number 00, Yamcha of the Taitans! What a win! That is Yamcha's 16th homer of the season and 60th career. His second ever walk-off. Game Taitans!" The announcer's voice boomed over the stadium. Bulma, heiress to Capsule Corp, budding genius, and February cover of _Science Illustrated_, cheered as her boyfriend Yamcha was swarmed by his teammates, who lifted him onto their shoulders. Bulma had gotten out of work a little early, and decided to surprise the reformed bandit at his game. Yamcha waved to the crowd on the first base line, not seeing his girlfriend, as he headed through the dugout and into the locker room. Bulma shrugged and decided to surprise him at his jet car.

Yamcha and Bulma had been an item since their very first adventure with the Dragon Balls when they were only sixteen. Over ten years later, they were still together, despite some struggles. In fact their anniversary was just a few days away. Off in the distance, Bulma saw the team emerge from the home locker room in staggered groups. Yamcha wasn't among any of them. Almost fifteen minutes later, two more people exited the locker room and began heading for Yamcha's jet car. As they drew closer, she saw it was Yamcha and a young woman who she recognized as the public relations representative for his team. The bluenette jumped up and down, waving to Yamcha. He gave a little jump of surprise. The PR gave a quick wave and headed back toward the locker room. Yamcha waved back, smile fading, and walked the rest of the distance to the jet car by himself.

"Bulma, honey! I wasn't expecting to see you tonight," he said nervously as the two shared a quick embrace.

"I wasn't expecting to be here, but my dad said he could finish the design on his own," she explained in an even tone. "I decided to surprise you. Great game, darling!"

The ride home was silent, despite the pleasant greetings. Bulma suspected that Yamcha wasn't just slow at changing out of his uniform. The pretty PR and her boyfriend had been alone in that locker room for a while, and had emerged together, acting strangely when they saw her. Bulma had an IQ of 143. She could put two and two together. Yamcha knew it too. He knew he was busted. The question was how would Bulma react?

* * *

><p>The heiress to Capsule Corp took a deep breath as the Namekkians set off to their new home. They had been residing on the company's premises, in the Briefs' expansive backyard specifically, for four months now, and had become a huge part of the Earthling's lives. After many tearful goodbyes, the yard fell silent. Everyone had gone home. Everyone, that is, except one.<p>

The prince of Vegeta-sei had no home to return to. Frieza had seen to that. He was pondering where to go, simply sitting at the base of a tree and staring into space. Bulma took a deep breath and approached, a little nervously. It was just her and an intergalactic mass murder who'd committed genocide countless times. She took another cleansing breath and began to speak. "Ummm...hi." Not one of her more eloquent moments, but she shrugged it off.

"What to you want, woman?" he demanded, impatient as always.

She was already beginning to regret this, but felt compelled to ask anyway. "Vegeta, I think you should stay here."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sitting. Usually a sign that someone's not moving for a while."

"I meant stay as in live. I think you should live at Capsule Corp."

That earned her an incredulous look. "I'd much rather blow up this mud ball you call a planet." He returned to staring into the distance, pointedly away from her.

"You've been living in my backyard for since you came to Earth. You might as well come inside."

He stood up to his full height, looking her dead in the eyes, ever-so-slightly shorter than her. His tone became dangerous, and his annoyance, apparent. "Now why would I do that?"

Bulma took two steps back and tried to maintain her composure. "Several reasons, actually. Firstly, you have no where else to go." Sighing at the obviousness of her point, Vegeta sat back down, crossing his arms. He had thought on the issue all year long, and had come up with no logical solutions. Here he was, homeless in a universe full of people whose lives he had irreparably damaged. Where the hell was someone like him supposed to go? He had no answer.

Vegeta supposed he'd just find some abandoned planet and train, alone with his thoughts. Then he'd find that buffoon Kakarot and show him the unstoppable power of the Prince of all Saiyans.

Bulma wasn't finished yet. "Secondly, you want to beat Goku - I mean uh... Kakarot, right? And he trained at 100 times Earth's gravity, right? Well you see, I built the gravity device for his ship." She could sense Vegeta's annoyance decreasing. He hadn't known that, and it interested him immensely. It bolstered her confidence, and she continued. "I could build one for you. Here. A better one."

"Well get started then," he interjected with a dismissive wave of the hand.

She shook her head. "I have a few conditions first."

Vegeta vaulted to his feet once more, eyes glistening with rage. "How dare you, a mere human, try to impose conditions on me. I am the Prince of all Saiyans! I could rip you to shreds before you could so much as flinch."

She did not doubt the truth in that, but she also knew it was an idle threat. He wouldn't kill her now that he knew she made Goku's gravity generator. She was valuable to him. It made her bold, and she laughed in the seething killer's face. "You wouldn't hurt me. You'd never get your gravity machine, and I just refuse to believe you'd let yourself be second to Goku of all people."

Vegeta had no response to that. He backed off, ever so slightly and crossed his arms again. "I'm listening," he hissed through closed teeth.

"Condition number one: you stay at Capsule Corp, at all times. The CC employees have seen enough aliens in the past few months. They won't mind you. On the other hand, you and Nappa already devastated one city on this planet and managed to get yourselves on television. Letting you wander around, especially in your Saiyan armor, would only cause mass panic, and we certainly don't want that."

"Well maybe you don't..." he muttered under his breath.

Sensing victory, Bulma chose to ignore it. "Condition number two: you fight off any threats the Earth might encounter while you're here."

Vegeta would jump at the chance to face any strong enemy, and if doing so let him utilize the woman's technology, well that was just an added bonus. "I look forward to the challenge."

"Good. Last condition. No touching."

"Pardon?"

"You heard me. Don't touch me."

Vegeta sneered as he comprehended the deeper meaning. "As if I, the Prince of All Saiyans, would degrade myself by fooling around with some weak human."

"Well that settles that then." She extended her hand. Not quite comprehending the Earth gesture, Vegeta hesitantly grabbed it. She shook vigorously, sealing the deal. Bulma wasn't sure whether to be proud or miserable. She got what she needed; her revenge on Yamcha. Of course that did mean subjecting herself to the bossy, arrogant, selfish prick who, as he had reminded her twice so far today, happened to be the Prince of all Saiyans. This was not going to be pleasant.

* * *

><p>After Bulma led her new houseguest to his room, she headed to hers for what she was sure would be an even more interesting conversation than the one she just had with Vegeta. Yamcha lay back on their shared bed, half undressed, beckoning seductively for her to join him. She sat down on edge of the bed, not quite sure how to bring up the fact that she had just invited a dangerous alien to live with them. Yamcha wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into a fierce kiss. Bulma pushed herself away as quickly as she could. "Yamcha, not now. I have some news."<p>

A myriad of ideas surged through the ex-bandit's head. Bulma certainly wasn't happy, and that didn't spell good news. Was she breaking up with him? Was she quitting her job? Oh god... was she pregnant?

She took a deep breath and broke the news. "Yamcha, Vegeta is going to be staying in our guest room for a while."

That certainly wasn't what he had expected. What was Bulma thinking?! She invited the man ultimately responsible for his death to live in their home. "No," was the only response he could muster.

"Consider us even," she explained "You have a fling with your team's PR. I invite a homeless alien to live and train here."

Yamcha swore angrily. "It wouldn't be a problem if that alien wasn't Vegeta. His set his pet Saibamen on me! Then had them self-destruct!"

Bulma smiled coldly. "Oh I remember. I also remember that it's not just your little PR play thing. So he's staying here. If you don't like it, you're more than welcome to leave."

* * *

><p>Bulma awoke peacefully the next morning, and descended the stairs of her modest home. She shared a lot with her parents at the corner of the Capsule Corp. property. The blue-haired genius proceeded into the kitchen to begin her daily routine with a large cup of coffee. She was greeted by a surly Saiyan eating at her kitchen table, at least half a dozen used plates surrounding him. He paused from early morning feeding to grumble at his host. "About time, woman. Were you planning on lounging about all day?"<p>

She yawned, and looked at the clock. "Vegeta," she sighed, "it's 7:00 AM. It's a perfectly normal time to wake up."

As her eyes began to fully open, she soaked in the mess of astronomic proportions. Vegeta had attempted to cook, and the results were not pretty. In addition to the dishes on the table, the sink was overflowing with used plates and silverware. Not even rinsed, she noted. Blackened eggs were plastered to the electric stove top, as if he'd tried to cook them without a pan. Vegeta had tried just that, as a matter of fact, burning the eggs with a small ki blast when he was too impatient for the stove to heat up. A big glop fell on Bulma's nose, causing her to look at the ceiling. It was covered in some mysterious brown goo. Pancake batter, or oatmeal maybe. She really had no clue. Worst of all, a small animal carcass lay on one of the plates. It appeared that Vegeta had caught it when his other attempts at food had so clearly failed. She wondered how - or if - he had cooked the poor butchered mammal. Bulma was baffled not only by the state of her kitchen, but by the sheer amount of food. Goku was always a big eater as a child, but this put him to shame.

The prince sat comfortably, munching a frozen waffle, clearly unconcerned by the destruction he had caused. "Woman, I was under the impression that you were building me a gravity device today. I was ready to train an hour and a half ago."

"Well I was ready to sleep an hour and half ago," she snapped.a

"I noticed."

"And I noticed the kitchen."

"What about it?"

Bulma stared incredulously, wondering if he was really that dense. For the second time that morning, she internally compared him to Goku. "Seriously...what the hell?"

Vegeta shrugged his shoulders. "I was hungry."

Her jaw hung open until her seething rage boiled over. "There's a half eaten, unidentifiable animal on my table, which you cracked by the way. Would you like to tell me what's on the ceiling, and even better, how it got there? Because I'm stumped, and I'm a friggin' genius. And did you seriously cook eggs directly on the stove?"

"Was I not supposed to?" Vegeta was genuinely confused, though he tried to hide it under his mask of sarcasm. Bulma saw through his ruse. The poor arrogant fool had no idea what to do in a kitchen. After all, he probably grew up in a fancy palace flocking with servants. She sighed, and calming herself, and decided to be reasonable. "Could you at least pick up after yourself?"

"The Prince of all Saiyans does not clean!" he snapped.

"Well fine. I'll clean up this whole mess by myself. I guess I'll just work on your gravity machine later..." she hinted slyly. Vegeta didn't budge, but Bulma had another trick up her sleeve. "How about another deal? Help me clean up and I'll make breakfast for you every day. At 7:00 though, I need my beauty sleep."

"6:00, and you work on my gravity machine right after."

"Fine," said Bulma, caving in again. "At least I won't have to clean this mess everyday," she muttered. The heiress ordered her houseguest around, and the kitchen was clean in no time. Vegeta muttered angrily, his usual pattern. Prince of all Saiyans, kill you and your families, and so on and so forth. Bulma didn't need sharp Saiyan hearing to get the point. Despite his bad attitude, Vegeta was a swift worker. As soon as the last plate was in the cabinet, he picked up the scientist, threw her over his shoulder (protesting heartily and screeching profanities), flew her to her basement lab, and tossed her in. Bulma landed in an undignified heap, the source of her headache immediately leaving to go train.


	2. Karma

Chapter 2: Karma

Bulma slapped her alarm clock, silencing the annoying buzzer. Next to her, Yamcha stirred. "B, it's not even seven o'clock," he managed to say through a massive yawn.

"Time to feed the zoo animal," she replied. She had already resigned herself to her new early morning routine. "I'm making omelets," she added in a sing-song voice, hoping to tempt her boyfriend into joining her.

"Fine," he muttered sleepily, reluctantly sliding from underneath the covers.

Bulma headed downstairs to start breakfast while Yamcha showered. That left her to face the hungry Saiyan alone. His jet black eyes followed her as she entered the kitchen and poured her morning coffee. She tried to shrug off his unsettling glare, finding it easier than she had yesterday.

"Morning Vegeta," she heard herself say.

He grunted, by way of response.

"What would you like in your omelet?" she asked.

He assumed it was food, for no other explanation made sense."Everything," came his one-word answer. He had no idea what that entailed, but as always, he was ravenous.

Bulma felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward. That had been a silly question. Despite his trim figure, Vegeta could, without doubt, win an eating contest and still be hungry. She had yet to discover a food he wouldn't eat. The blue-haired woman pulled two dozen eggs from the fridge. With a few flicks of the wrist, she deftly whipped them with some cream. Soon, two small pans and one large griddle were bubbling with the egg base. Bulma added a medley of vegetables and meats to each. Examining the contents of her refrigerator door, she found a few food items she had been looking to get rid of. She dumped a whole can of black olives, some broccoli stalks, diced kimchi, six jalapenos (seeds and all), and a scoop of week-old fried rice to the Saiyan prince's breakfast.

A scrape let Bulma know that Yamcha had finally made it to the kitchen. Though the human and his killer exchanged cold glares, both seemed to accept the temporary truce that the meal demanded. They ate in relative silence, that is until Yamcha got an onion. He hated onions nearly as much as he hated the man sharing the table with him, and a little theatrically perhaps, gagged on the one in his last bite. Bulma rolled her eyes. She managed to leave most of the onion out of his portion, but he insisted on drawing attention to what was obviously a mistake. Her annoyance was replaced with concern when the gagging became choking. She felt her body move on its own. A few swift thrusts of the Heimlich maneuver and the offending vegetable was coughed up.

"What a fearsome warrior you are," Vegeta scoffed, voice dripping with disdain and sarcasm. "Breakfast is truly a challenge."

"Shut up, you glutton," Yamcha spat back.

"At least I'm capable of eating," the saiyan quipped.

"I'll make you eat those words," the former bandit shouted as he stood, brandishing a fork.

Bulma pinched the bridge of her nose. She supposed he felt witty, but that was undoubtedly the worst retort she had ever heard. "Yamcha," she sighed. "Please leave my cutlery out of this." He ignored her.

"A real man doesn't need weapons to fight," the prince scoffed.

"I'll show you who's a real man."

"You?" Vegeta snorted indignantly. "Certainly not."

"Do you want to take this outside, shortie?"

Bulma cradled her head in her hands out of sheer frustration. Now both of them were trying to provoke the other to violence. Yamcha knew better than to mock Vegeta's height, and Vegeta knew better than to attack Yamcha's pride. They simply wanted to fight. So of course, Vegeta rose to his opponent's challenge.

"Please. You wouldn't last one minute against a warrior... of... my..." His sentence tapered off as he noticed his enemy being dragged away. Bulma had Yamcha by the collar and was pulling him out of the room, though he protested.

"Ha! Bested by a woman as well! You are truly pathetic," Vegeta called after his retreating foe.

* * *

><p>Bulma sat Yamcha on the bed, where he pouted like a child being put in time-out.<p>

"Stop provoking Vegeta, you moron," she reprimanded, adding further wounds to his injured pride.

"But Bulma!" he protested. "He started it!" If he thought that excused his actions in her eyes, he was wrong.

"You are capable of acting in a mature fashion. He is not. If his goading fails, he'll leave you alone. Maybe then, he'll just go away."

Yamcha punched a pillow in frustration. As if the Saiyan would 'just go away'. They both knew it was a ridiculous hope. "You're going to let him get away with running his mouth." He said it as a statement of fact, not a question.

"Will attempting to beat him up achieve anything?"

Yamcha knew it probably wouldn't, but the short little bastard deserved it anyway. On the other hand, he knew that Bulma was as stubborn as a mule. "Fine, Bulma. You win," he conceded. "I'll lay off."

She seemed appeased. "I'll go serve seconds... and probably thirds. Stay here and cool off."

In the next room, Vegeta regretted his keen hearing. One of the major disadvantages of being an alien on this human world was that he kept hearing things that weren't meant for him. Perhaps because the other saiyan on this planet was so dense, the foolish humans forgot about his abilities. Not 'capable of acting in a mature fashion'. He frowned. Of course he was. He simply didn't like the weakling. Vegeta supposed he could be a bit kinder to the scarred one, but where was the fun in that?

* * *

><p>Yamcha shook out his arms, his stretching finished. He didn't have a game or practice today, but he planned on doing some weight training instead. He opened the door to his weight room. Bulma had it built when he first made the Taitans baseball team, and it had been well used ever since. He started on the shoulder press machine and completed an entire set of repetitions at the heaviest weight he could manage. As he started his second set of reps, however, there was a knock on the door.<p>

Bulma stuck her head in. "I'll be outside building the gravity room. Vegeta is going to train in here today, okay?" She left without waiting for an answer. Clearly she was giving him a warning, not asking his permission.

Yamcha was about to protest, but the door opened the rest of the way to reveal the saiyan prince. He entered the room soundlessly, not even glancing at Yamcha. The scarred human tried to focus again. He stared at the wall straight in front of him, and continued with his shoulder presses. After a moment of consideration, Vegeta elected to start with leg presses. After a minute or so, Yamcha's focus started to fade. He glanced over at the Saiyan. _I can take just as much as he can_, Yamcha thought. He decided that he would stop when Vegeta did. What he neglected to notice, however, was the smirk on the competitive alien's face. Vegeta increased his pace. Yamcha followed suit, though his deltoids screamed in protest. A normal set for him would be around twenty repetitions. He lost count somewhere around sixty. At last his arms could take no more. Yamcha rose and moved to the other side of the room. He decided to give his arms a break and work on his legs. Vegeta meanwhile, had barely broken a sweat. He counted his reps softly but audibly. Yamcha gritted his teeth. The murderer was mocking him! He began doing leg extensions at a furious pace.

Chuckling softly to himself, Vegeta moved to the now vacant shoulder press machine. _Wonder how long it will take to make the weakling cry,_ he thought. He began to count his reps out loud again.

Yamcha scowled. He closed his eyes and attempted to refocus, adopting a stoic expression as he started a second set of leg extensions. Vegeta wasn't through mocking his enemy. He added another ten pounds to shoulder press machine and resumed his workout. Yamcha couldn't let that slide. He added another ten to his machine too. The human blinked sweat out of his eyes as finished another thirty reps. He smirked, pushing himself to do another ten. He was so sure the Saiyan would be struggling just as much as he was. A glance proved him wrong; his rival was unfazed. Yamcha swore internally. _This guy is a monster_, he thought. He could do ten more reps. It was a struggle to finish the last one, though he did. He stretched his quads and took a quick breather, then it was right back to the machine.

Vegeta snorted. The poor thing needed a break. He added another ten pounds to the machine and kept going. Yamcha finished a third set of reps and lay down for bench presses. Vegeta took the opportunity to move to the leg extension machine and further humiliate the his new housemate. Before even sitting down, he added twenty pounds to the machine. Yamcha snorted. He didn't think the alien could handle the added weight, but as usual, he was wrong. Not only could Vegeta handle it, he could handle it while doing faster reps than his human competitor. Squats, dead lifts, chest flies, pulldowns. No matter the exercise, and no matter how hard Yamcha pushed himself, he could not beat Vegeta.

Yamcha held the bench press record for his baseball team. He could beat Krillin. He could even beat Master Roshi. It was his event, and he was looking forward to beating the smug saiyan. He set 215 pounds on the bar, lifting it easily. Vegeta stifled a laugh as he continued his exercise. "I'd like to see you do better," Yamcha muttered under his breath.

"You're on," the arrogant prince replied. The scar-faced bandit was giddy, though a little surprised the other man even heard him. Vegeta pushed him out of the way, laid down, and lifted the same weight one-handed. Yamcha added another seventy-five pounds. "Try that," he scoffed. It was no challenge for alien. The human and the Saiyan switched places. Yamcha lifted it easily as well. Vegeta added another fifty pounds. Yamcha shrugged and lifted it again. It was a bigger challenge, but he still succeeded. Vegeta did as well. They added another fifty pounds. Vegeta seemed unfazed by the added weight. Yamcha took his time, sweat beading his brow. He was able to lift it, but just barely. Vegeta saw that the human was at his limit. He added another hundred pounds, and lifted it. Yamcha turned a funny shade of purple, yet his pride compelled him to lift it. He managed to get the weight off the support bars, but that was where his success stopped. Slowly but surely, the weight sank toward the vulnerable fighter's neck. His entire upper body cried out in pain, and the barbell collapsed on his throat. His esophagus was blocked; he couldn't breathe. Yamcha tried in vain to lift the full 500 pounds of the weight off his neck. No dice. He was trapped. Vegeta gave a condescending laugh and easily lifted the weight off the trapped human's neck, giving it a little twirl just to rub it in.

Yamcha was by no means out of shape. Heck, he was a professional athlete. The difference between their two species was just too great. He knew his body, and he knew when he had pushed himself too far. He had a game tomorrow night and couldn't risk injuring himself, never mind strangling himself with a barbell. The baseball player stood, glaring daggers at Vegeta, and strode from the room. He would train later. Alone.

* * *

><p>The young scientist headed down to her lab to escape the incessant bickering. She had managed to find her plans for the gravity device that she installed on Goku's former ship. It wouldn't take much work to isolate them from the ship's systems, right? Wrong! Three hours later, Bulma realized all of her work to that point was useless because she had been forgetting about the heat that her device generated. She needed some kind of cooling system...<p>

By the time the sky grew dark, Bulma found herself staring at her calculations and making no progress. It was a clear sign that it was time to stop for the night. She laid down on the couch, a little hungry but too tired to scrounge up something in the kitchen. She planned to watch television for a few minutes then go to bed, but minutes turned to hours as she closed her eyes and sunk peacefully into sleep.

Yamcha woke her up well after midnight by placing a take-out carton on her chest. Her stomach roared to life. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. "Chinese," Yamcha said. "I got some take out on my way home from the game, but you look like you could use it more than me."

"Thanks," she replied, smiling. Yamcha kissed her softly on the cheek, then stole the remote. He flipped through the sports channels, trying to see the results of the other teams in his league. He was so excited about each great catch and throw, the skillfully placed hits, the powerful home runs. Bulma loved how passionate he was about it. It was one of the many things she liked about him. Unfortunately these days, those things were easy to forget. She remembered back to the last time she used the Dragon Balls.

_The giant dragon, Porunga, was difficult to forget. She had asked him to bring her beloved boyfriend back to life. He had granted her wish, willing Yamcha back into existence right before her very eyes. She had expected him to run over and hug her, or kiss her, or at least thank her. Instead, he walked up to Vegeta and spat in his face._

_The Prince of all Saiyans was not a big fan of humans, never mind human saliva. He wiped his face clean, bitterly, with the palm of his hand. The look of disgust on his face said it all; Yamcha was in trouble. _

_Bulma had intervened. "Vegeta, you may be the strongest warrior present, but you are incredibly outnumbered." _

_The saiyan let out a visceral growl, but saw the logic in the woman's statement. He did not punch the scarred one, though he dearly wanted to. _

_Bulma then turned to Yamcha. "Vegeta helped us gather the Dragon Balls. Without him, you wouldn't be alive."_

_"Without out him, I wouldn't have died," Yamcha snapped back._

_It was true, of course._

That moment summed up their relationship in these past four months. Yamcha was incessantly training, both for baseball and in vain hope that he might land a punch against Vegeta. And like that day, their conversations had mostly been arguments.

Bulma missed the old days: their first journey to gather the Dragon Balls. Yamcha could barely look at her without blushing. Anything more than that and his nose produced an unstoppable river of blood. It was cute. Endearing, even. He saved her life more than once. He constantly admired her, and she admired him back. Though he didn't like his scars, she thought they made him look dashing. It was impossible to ignore his strength and his bravery. He was easily one of the most skilled warriors on the planet. Still...

Her train of thought was interrupted by a head-splitting yawn. She had one of the decorative couch pillows under her head. A blanket covered her, presumably Yamcha's work. Yamcha himself was gone, and the sun shone brightly on her face. Apparently she had slept all night on the couch, where she had no alarm clock. Panicking, she searched for her cell phone. Bulma found it wedged between the couch cushions. The display read 10:00 AM. Oh no! She was late for work.

She pulled her hair into a sloppy ponytail as she hastily dressed in a business suit. To her pleasant surprise, she broke her speed make-up application record, finishing the job in two minutes flat. Bulma hopped down her driveway, still putting her high heels on, and ran next door to her parents' home.

Her father sat on his doorstep, petting his ever faithful black cat, Scratch. "Bulma, honey! There you are," the good doctor sighed in relief. "Your mother and I were wondering if you'd flown off into space again."

Bulma gave her father a big hug. "Sorry, Daddy. I slept through my alarm. Weren't we supposed to be at an investors' meeting an hour ago?"

"Yes, we were," he explained. "I talked them into postponing it until this afternoon. The investors were eager to do some sightseeing anyway."

The blue-haired scientist let out a sigh of relief. Investors' meetings were terrifying enough when the investors were in a good mood, never mind when they had been waiting for nearly an hour and a half.

"The meeting tonight will be at 6:00. Don't be late, dear," he laughed. Bulma was so punctual, that it was unimaginable that she would be late twice in one day. "I'll see you this evening, Dad!" she called, already running back toward her house.

She found a note on her kitchen table, and read it under her breath:

_Dear Bulma,_

_I was trying to tell you last night before you fell asleep, but I'll be playing a series of baseball games with my team over in East City and another in Parsley City, so I won't see you for a few days. You just looked so beautiful when you were sleeping that I couldn't bear to wake you up when I left. I'll see you on Wednesday!_

_Love,_

_Yamcha_

Vegeta sniggered and Bulma spun around so fast that she almost fell over. _Please tell me he didn't hear that_, she prayed. The young genius loved it when her boyfriend acted romantically, or as Vegeta called it, sappy. That didn't mean that she wanted anyone else to hear it, much less the prince of all jerks. Speaking of, another thought occurred to her. She was here - alone - with him for six days. Six days in service to that royal pain-in-the-ass, with no one to intervene on her behalf. Perhaps she should invite Goku over for a visit. No! That would only make things worse. She could go stay with Chi-chi, but then who knows what state her home would be in on her return. Surprise Yamcha on his trip? No. She was no stalker. Plus she really didn't want to know what he did on his 'business trips'. What then? The only remaining option was to ride it out, to suffer six days alone with the saiyan.

His sharp hearing had indeed heard every word. "Pathetic," he scoffed. "No wonder the weakling frustrates you."

"He does not!" she replied reflexively, and moved to exit the kitchen. Instead, she found a wall of muscle blocking the way.

"Get out of my way, Vegeta." She tried to push him. He didn't budge. "Come on. I have things to do!" she implored.

"So my gravity room is finished then?"

Bulma sighed. She was going to do a final check of her designs before her investors' meeting later. She assumed that her plans were about to change. "I have other things I need to do," she explained, making another attempt to get past the battle-seasoned prince.

"So do I, and I can't do them without a gravity room," he growled.

Her current designs would just have to do. "Alright, alright. I'll work on your darn gravity room."

That was all he needed to hear, apparently. He stormed out of the room, leaving Bulma in relative peace.


	3. The Prince and the Scientist

Chapter 3: The Prince and the Scientist

Inside her normally comfortable lab, Bulma felt vulnerable and exposed. A pair of jet-black eyes glowered in her direction as she sketched the blueprint for the domed gravity room she was about to build. "Dammit. It's not in radians," she muttered to herself. She had been making silly mistakes all over the place, and she had hunch why.

"Done yet, woman?" the impatient Saiyan asked for the millionth time, like a child asking, "Are we there yet?".

Rolling her eyes, she shot back. "No, Vegeta. For the last time, I will tell you when I am done."

"Keep your tongue in check when speaking to me, woman."

"Hah! I could say the same to you, you royal jerk."

"I swear, woman - " he started menacingly.

"Do you want a gravity room or not?!" she spat. The blue-haired scientist settled back down at her drawing table. The impatient Saiyan stared angrily at the clock (It must be broken!). No more than ten minutes later, he stormed out of the room. Bulma didn't know where he went, or care, for that matter.

Lunchtime brought good news. "We're ready to build, Vegeta," she informed him over freshly-delivered pizza. Vegeta ate 12 large meat-lovers pizzas. Bulma had two slices.

"Finally," he replied. "At the rate you were working, I thought I'd get my gravity room this time next year."

"Don't get too excited. It's going to take at least a few days."

He glared angrily at her. "Oh don't give me that, you big baby," she scoffed.

If looks could kill, Bulma would be stone-cold dead. The Saiyan prince had not been called a baby since he was one. No one had dared. His gloved hand wound its way around the frightened human's wrist. "If you wish to live, you would do well to remember your place," he hissed dangerously, applying an uncomfortable amount of pressure.

She withdrew her arm. It had five slight bruises, one for each fingertip. Her eyes narrowed. "I swear Vegeta, I am finishing this damn project as fast as I can, if only to have you out of my hair," she spat. "Now grab a shovel and help."

With the aid of a saiyan, the digging went quickly. They carved a massive pit in the Briefs' backyard, which Bulma informed him would house the cooling system. She utilized his speed, sending him to neighboring Capsule Corp for varying pipes, wires, and tanks, and finally a substance of her father's invention: quick-cure concrete. The foundation was laid before the sun set. After a hard day of work, Bulma staked a tarp over the fresh concrete, keeping it safe from the morning dew. She wiped the sweat off her brow and headed inside with a few hours to go before her investors' meeting.

Feeling drastically more confident than this morning, Bulma grabbed her portfolio and met her father outside Conference Room B, or as she liked to call it, the torture room. There was nothing quite like watching a precious invention that she had spent hours and hours perfecting be dissected by people who really didn't understand it or its capabilities. Dr. Briefs entered the room to 'warm up the crowd'. Bulma knew he would be bragging about her and her previous inventions, trying to get them excited about her latest work. This particular meeting was to get a sponsor to produce her new oxygen capsules.

Before she left for Namek, her father developed a gel that would release a small, steady stream of oxygen. The trouble was that it dispersed too quickly to be of much use. Bulma had thought to combine her father's formula with some ordinary chewing gum, solving the problem. It had taken her weeks to accomplish, but she had finally done it. Simply pop the capsule in your mouth, chew it, and bing! An instant thirty-minute minty-fresh oxygen supply. Her father and many of the employees at Capsule Corp had been fine-tuning her work while she was away. It was now ready for production, but it certainly wasn't cheap to make.

When her father finally invited her inside, Bulma was introduced to Mr. Hitotsu and Mr. Futatsu of the RRA Corporation. The first shook her hand violently, as if he didn't know his own strength. His partner bowed, and Bulma's now painful fingers were grateful for that. Her presentation was already on the conference room screen. She explained her father's work, then her modifications, then the minor tweaks that the CC employees had made to get the product to the production stage. She then asked what exactly the RRA Corporation did, so she could explain the uses her product would have for them. The two executives glanced at each other. "We are in the defense business," Hitotsu explained after a rather long pause. Bulma thought the whole thing was strange, but couldn't bring herself to question potential funding.

"Think of the possibilities," Bulma said cheerily, improvising. "It would give you all sorts of new combat strategies. You could mount amphibious attacks without bulky scuba gear, or use it if your planes have emergencies." In all honesty, Bulma didn't think a fresh air supply would help a military company all that much. It was more suited for companies based in space, or perhaps deep-sea exploration, mining even. Her product was really just a cool idea that only select people would find useful. "We think your capsule will be tremendously useful to our operation, Miss Briefs," Mr. Hitotsu proclaimed, much to the young scientist's surprise. "We shall fund its production."

* * *

><p>Bulma rolled over twice to get out of bed. It always seemed unnecessarily large when Yamcha was away. She silenced her alarm. It was to go off in thirty minutes, but she was already awake. The house seemed so still and quiet. She was usually the last person awake, never the first. It was too good to last. Her reluctant house guest stomped down the stairs with all the grace of a morbidly obese hippo in tutu. "Woman, breakfast," he ordered loudly.<p>

Bulma didn't hear a few key things that might have made her fire up the stove: 1) the word 'please', 2) 'good morning', and 3) her name. She poured herself a cup off coffee, and sat on the couch, blatantly ignoring him. Her heart soared as she walked past the calendar. Her eleventh anniversary with Yamcha was on Wednesday, the day he would be back. She hummed a happy little tune, only to be silenced by a growl from Vegeta.

"Woman," he said, warningly. She turned away from him. His limited patience had been thoroughly tested. He picked her up by the arms and flew her into the kitchen. Naturally, Bulma didn't take it very well.

"Give me a few minutes to wake up, would you?" she hollered, swatting at the hands still holding her several inches off the ground. He dropped her unceremoniously in front of the stove. She landed roughly, falling in a disheveled heap.

"It appears you have not yet learned to address royalty," he laughed as she stood up.

"Earn my respect and maybe I'll listen to you," she scoffed.

"Insolent servants don't live very long," he hissed back.

Bulma had one too many threats on her life in the past few days. That was the last straw. She began to laugh, her messy hair coming out of its neat ponytail. "You know what Vegeta, maybe I'm not making any friends here, but you will be respectful to me. You see, I have a little secret," she whispered. Anyone who knew the heiress knew that she was most dangerous when she spoke quietly. Vegeta, on the other hand, did not know her very well.

"I'm quaking in my boots," he remarked sarcastically. What could she do to him, anyway?

"When we were laying the foundation for the gravity room yesterday, I added a few improvements. One of them being C-4. Do you know what C-4 is, Vegeta?"

He did not, and she knew it. He stared coldly in response.

"It's an explosive. I have a detonator for it. You won't find it, but push me far enough and I swear I will use it."

"And I swear you will build me another one if you value your life," he growled.

"With you around, I'm beginning to value it less. I assure you, you won't be getting a second gravity room. You're on your own for breakfast." With that, she stomped upstairs, banging every door she could.

* * *

><p>Vegeta heaved a sigh of relief when the woman left for work. All her loud noises were giving him a headache. With no progress made on the gravity room, he found himself with nothing to do but train, and yet, no place to train. Dammit, he swore. Where do the Earthlings train? Kakarot was nowhere to be found. The whelp's son was pursuing his education instead of training, like the weakling he was. The scarred weakling used the weights down the hall, which had done nothing for him. The green one... yes. The green one trained in wastelands, which apparently this planet had in large quantities. Perhaps he should go find his own. There he could use his full power, for once.<p>

Vegeta donned his training gear and opened his bedroom window. He flew out, like an oddly dressed bird, into the fresh morning air. Bulma's neighbor had a similar idea. Down the street, the elderly gentleman was on his porch, savoring the morning. Vegeta flew by, sending a disdainful glance in his direction. He saw the old man drop his coffee, point in his direction, and start screaming. The saiyan shrugged, though he couldn't help but wonder if he forget pants or something. The answer hit him like a two-ton semi truck at full speed. Then the prince cursed his stupidity; he had forgotten that most Earthlings lack the ability to fly. He considered going back and taking one of the woman's jet cars, but thought better of it. He didn't know how to operate them anyway. Perhaps he should walk then, but it was an infuriatingly slow method of transit. He shrugged againand kept flying to the East. Soon he was out of West City and into an open area. A highway ran across the land and several isolated homes were scattered about. Bulma would never let him hear the end of it if he had any sort of 'training accident' involving innocent bystanders. No, he would have to keep looking.

Though it took another hour and some more frightened pedestrians, he finally made it to East City. It was practically on the other side of the continent. Perhaps there was an area a short flight away where he could train without holding back. A din of car horns and screeching brakes brought a memory back to him. He and Nappa had just landed on Earth, right around here, as a matter of fact. Their pods had crashed into a building. Nappa had blown up a few more buildings, too. "Think, you idiot!" he had berated his partner. "What if you managed to blow up one of the Dragon Balls?" Well, who was the idiot now? He was wearing his Saiyan armor, flying about a city he had once terrorized. Judging from the approaching military tanks, the locals' memory of the incident was a lot better than his.

Just a ways North, he found what he was looking for: a nice open wasteland ripe for destruction. He was able to train at full power, expending most of his ki. In light of his more foolish decisions earlier in the day, it was lucky that he remembered to save enough to fly home. He made it back just before Bulma did. He wasn't sure how she would take his exploration, but he didn't particularly want to find out.

The blue-haired woman arrived home shortly, arms full of food. She had stopped by the grocery store. The butcher had been rather confused when she requested his entire stock of tri-tip, but he complied. Bulma cooked them four at a time for the hungry alien. When at last they sat on the couch, plates full, the heiress flipped on the news.

"A ninety-year-old man in West City died of mysterious causes today," the newscaster announced. "He went out on his porch to enjoy his morning coffee, his daughter informed the police. She heard a scream, and ran outside to find he had collapsed to the ground. He was muttering something about a flying man. The coroner could determine no cause of death. 'For a man his age, he was in remarkable health,' he stated. 'My only guess is that he died of fright."

Bulma's eyes flicked toward the saiyan, regarding him suspiciously as she ate her dinner.

"Our top story tonight," the newscaster continued, "is the alien sighting in East City. Local authorities confirm that this alien was one of the two who destroyed large parts of the city several years ago. Though he did not attack today, his presence caused millions in damage between car wrecks and the cost of military action. Military experts say he saved his destruction for the desert north of town. It is unknown how his actions will affect the local wildlife, though a local scientist believes he has wiped several species from the face of the Earth."

"So much for keeping the woman in the dark," he muttered to himself as he crossed his arms.

The woman in question sat awkwardly on the couch. Her fork was suspended halfway to her mouth. She turned slowly to stare at the Saiyan next to her.

"So Vegeta," she started, her voice dangerously calm. "What did you do today?"

A cold chill ran down his spine. "I trained," was his response. It was true, though oversimplified.

"Did you by any chance cause mass chaos?" The pitch and volume rose as she began to lose control.

"Not intentionally," he said, reflexively tensing.

"Do you remember the conversation we had when I first agreed to let you live here?" He nodded.

She was standing now, and advancing toward him. Her dinner lay forgotten on the couch cushions.

"And do you remember the conditions I laid out?" She stood, hands on her hips, inches from his face. He nodded in response.

"Name them," she demanded.

"No touching."

"And?" Her voice quavered with rage.

"Protect the planet."

"And?" she continued. Bulma had only imposed three conditions upon him, and he had already eliminated two. He knew exactly which condition he had broken, and she was coercing him into acknowledging that. He sighed.

"Stay in the house," he admitted, defeated.

"Did you stay in the house today?" she asked. It was the same tone of voice one might use to reprimand a naughty puppy who had eaten a pair of slippers.

"No," he sighed. He sunk into the couch. She took the opportunity to snatch his remaining dinner from him.

"I won't be cooking anything for you tomorrow, or doing any work on the gravity room," he growled, but accepted the punishment. She might have ceased work on the gravity room all together. Of course he probably would have killed her for that, but he was forced to admit that she was being pretty lenient.

"I will also be installing bio-locks on all of the doors. When I say, 'stay in the house,' I mean it."


	4. Sleeping Dogs

Chapter 4: Sleeping Dogs

Despite cold glares from Vegeta, the young genius installed bio-locks of her own invention on all the doors leading to the outside. She took a hair from both her brush and Yamcha's and granted those DNA signatures full access to the house. It was really futile for her to do this. Vegeta didn't quite understand the concept of doors, leaving them open or ignoring them when they were closed, and popping in and out of open windows. He could get around these if he wanted to. This was her show of power, though. She couldn't let him think he would get away with frightening a poor old man to death and terrifying an entire city. What kind of example would that set?

While the woman was occupied, Vegeta plotted his revenge. He would find the hidden detonator and wait for the gravity room to be finished. Than he could do as he pleased. The woman would be powerless to fight back. She bustled around the front door as she fiddled with her new locks. Perfect. Now where would someone hide a detonator? Near something precious, perhaps. He stealthily hustled to her lab. Drat! Locked. Where else might she keep it? The kitchen? She certainly did spend a lot of time in there. His search revealed little, except forgotten utensils fallen behind drawers. Perhaps her bedroom then...

The door was a little ajar, as was normal. Unfortunately, it was within plain sight of the front door. It was a cool day, and a better thought occurred to him: the window. He went upstairs to his room, playing it cool. His window opened easily, but hers was a little trickier. Bulma was a big fan of her 'environment control unit', as she called it, so the window hadn't been opened in a while. It was no match for saiyan strength, however, and it opened, squeaking angrily.

Bulma looked up from her work, resisting the temptation to plug her ears. It sounded like someone was skinning a cat! In her bedroom! Sticking her head into the house, she glanced in that direction, seeing Vegeta walk shirtless with a towel laid over his shoulder. He headed into his room from the direction of the bathroom. She shrugged it off. Perhaps the bathroom fixtures needed a little grease.

The prince gave a smirk of satisfaction as he closed the door behind him. The woman would buy that act. It was a good thing he moved as quickly as he did. Now that both windows were open, it was a simple task to slip inside. Where would the woman keep a detonator? It must be somewhere the weakling wouldn't discover it, he mused. He checked under the bed, but found only shoes. The walk-in closet yielded similar results. He wasn't sure what he found under the bathroom sink, but it didn't look explosive. The dresser, then, must hold the answer.

Bulma had finally finished installing the locks, and went to change out of her work clothes. She kicked the door closed behind her and began to unbutton her shirt. It was then that she noticed she wasn't alone. The Prince of all Saiyans was rifling through her socks. "Vegeta, you ass!" she hollered, clutching her shirt closed. "What are you doing in here?"

"N-nothing," he stammered, backing towards the window, his face a vibrant shade of pink.

"You can do nothing in your own room, you liar!"

Vegeta resisted the temptation to plug his ears at the harpy's shrieks. "Fine. I was looking for your damned detonator."

"I made that up you moron! Get OUT!" she shrieked, trembling with rage and embarrassment. "And no dinner!" she called after him. He was already gone.

_That conniving bitch,_ he thought. Making up a fake weapon to use against him was pretty clever. Telling him it was fake, though... she must be lying. But what if she knew he'd figure it out? He shook his head to clear it. If that harpy had been born a saiyan, she would have made a formidable foe. Unfortunately for Vegeta, Bulma was a more formidable than her alien guest thought. Giggling like a schoolgirl, she set up two more bio-locks. They were on the refrigerator and the freezer.

True to her other promise, Bulma cooked no food for Vegeta. He lusted after the delicious cinnamon rolls she baked for breakfast and the scent they left, lingering hours later. He craved leftover pizza when she had some for lunch. Savoring her victory, Bulma cooked lobster for dinner, one of her perennial favorites. She even made a butter-garlic dipping sauce. Though the Saiyan was in the living room, she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her skull as she devoured her meal.

Vegeta couldn't take the smell of food anymore. He longed for anything food-like. Even one of Frieza's ration pills would hit the spot right now.

"Yoo hoo, Mr. Alien," a nauseatingly sweet voice called. Oh gods... it was the blonde one. Bulma's mother, poking her head through the front door. "Have you seen my daughter?" she asked. _Maybe if I ignore it, it'll go away,_ he thought. He was wrong. His stomach growled like a caged lion. Bunny Briefs was many things, but she was not one to turn away from a hungry person. "I just baked some fresh cookies," she offered graciously. "Would you like one?"

Ten minutes and thirty-two cookies later, Vegeta found himself across the table from Bulma's mother in her nearby home. "I can bake some more if you'd like, dear," she proposed. Vegeta heard 'deer', not 'dear', and he was only partially sure that it was some type of Earth animal. How dare she compare him to some pathetic Earth creature! On second thought, she had food. Her destruction would come later.

"So tell me, Mr. ... is it Vegetable? ... how did you meet my daughter?" she asked casually as she rolled out the dough.

He and Bulma had met when he slaughtered Zarbon in front of her and then threatened to kill her for a Dragon Ball. He didn't need to be a tactician to know that telling the woman's mother the truth was probably a bad idea. "Friend of a friend," he replied vaguely, hoping that the inquisitive shrew wouldn't pester him for more.

"Oh that's nice," she remarked, touching her cheek with a hand covered in flour. "Darn it all," she muttered as she wiped the flower away with a brightly-colored apron. "That was silly of me."

Silly was the understatement of the century, Vegeta thought. The woman was a complete airhead. She had invited him, one of the most terrifying and renowned warriors in all of the galaxy, to have cookies and milk. It was as preposterous as hugging a fire-breathing dragon hell-bent on having you for dinner.

"How did you come to live with her, anyway?" the daft woman continued. The blue-haired one had informed him that had smelled horrible, then invited him in for a shower. Again, it probably wasn't wise to inform a mother that her daughter had let a strange man use her shower. He cleared his throat, stalling for time.

"She learned that my home was destroyed, and told me she had a guest room," he said clinically, leaving out the destruction of the planet said home was on and the death of his entire race. No need for her to know any of the details.

Bunny's eyebrows knitted together. "Yes of course," she said, forcing a smile. Vegeta could tell she wanted more information, but she wasn't going to get it from him. The smell of baking cookies made his mouth water as Bunny sat across from him again. "You are so close to my daughter," she mentioned conversationally. "It is good to know she has such a good friend."

The Saiyan bit his tongue so hard he swore he would taste blood for weeks. He couldn't afford to laugh when cookies were on the line. As if he considered that blue-haired harpy to be a friend. She was closer to a jailor. "Of course," he heard himself say. The cookies were ready shortly, and he reached eagerly for one.

Bunny withdrew the tray with the speed of a striking snake. "I didn't hear the magic word," she teased.

Vegeta recoiled as though he'd been shot. Magic? The woman must be some kind of sorceress. He had eaten her food! He was probably cursed already. It could be dangerous to disobey her... "Say 'please'," she cajoled.

"Please," he spat, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice. Dratted sorceress! How dare she make the Prince of all Saiyans beg? Her death would be swift. The chocolate chip cookie soothed his rage.

Bunny packed him a doggie bag with another two dozen. "Send Bulma over here, when you see her," she requested. "Tell her to bring some laundry. Silly girl can't look out for herself."

He nodded, and she retreated back into the house. Vegeta flew back into his window. The cookies were gone before he hit the bed.

* * *

><p><strong>The next day...<strong>

Oh crapbaskets. Bulma wasn't going to be happy about this. Vegeta looked at the yellowish, putrid substance dripping from his hand onto the floor. He couldn't help but investigate when Bulma left her lab door open and left for work. She told him she had a detonator to destroy the gravity room, and then practically dared him to find it. If you looked at it that way, it really was her fault. He glanced at the broken vial. 'Mono', it read. Mono? One what? He shrugged and proceeded to clean the mess. It was better that the woman didn't know of this...

Bulma came home shortly. She tripped as she entered the door, dropping her briefcase. Swearing loudly, she walked inside, only to find Vegeta asleep on the couch. She checked her watch. It was only 4:30. Shouldn't he be training or something? Bulma decided he must really need the sleep since he slept through the racket she caused. Well after a day of hard work, she was starving. Lasagna was the dinner plan for tonight. It took an hour to prepare and another to cook, during which Bulma reviewed some expenditure reports for her future company. When the meal was finally cool enough to eat, Bulma went to check on her houseguest. He was still sound asleep, which puzzled and shocked her. No matter. He would be furious if she let him sleep through food.

The bluenette wasn't dumb enough to wake a sleeping Saiyan up close. Instead, she grabbed a broom. Holding the brush, she poked him with the handle. He didn't even budge. Was... was he dead? She tried again, jostling his arm. No response. Maybe he _was _dead. Tentatively, she approached. For all she knew, he was lying prone, waiting to spring to life and scare her as punishment for disturbing his afternoon nap. That wasn't the case; Bulma was able to get right next to him without any retaliation. She poked his arm with her finger. No response. His stomach, she figured, would be ticklish on a human. She poked it. Still no response. (Are Saiyans ticklish?) She moved to poke his forehead, but as she got close, she sensed an intense heat. Instead, she laid her hand across his brow, and quickly withdrew her hand. She had no idea how hot of a fever Saiyans could live through, but that would certainly kill a human. She ran upstairs, grabbed a thermometer from underneath her bathroom sink, and ran back down. The genius figured that if her ridiculous behavior hadn't stirred him, then a few loud noises wouldn't hurt.

Bulma placed her thumb and index finger on opposite side of his jaw and squeezed near where the teeth meet. It forced the alien's jaw open so she could slip the thermometer under his tongue. The thermometer took two full minutes to get a reading, and for Bulma, those minutes seemed to last forever. She found herself acutely aware of her breathing, and how fast it was in comparison to the prince's shallow, infrequent breaths. At long last, the device beeped shrilly, and she removed it from his mouth. One-hundred and eight degrees! No wonder he felt warm; that temperature would cause serious brain damage in a human.

She rushed down to her lab for some cold compresses. The first sign of trouble was that the door stood wide open. She could swear she closed it when she left for work. The second sign was the smell: agar solution. Bulma occasionally loaned out her storage freezer to Capsule Corp when theirs were filled. Currently she had a collection of bacteria colonies infected with various diseases to study their medicinal properties. This bacteria was being grown in agar gel, the usual medium. If this agar was supposed to be sealed tightly in the freezer, then why was she smelling it? Someone had been in her lab, and she had a sneaking suspicion of who that might be. Putting on some gloves, she rifled through the trash. Sure enough, there was a broken vial labeled 'Mono'. Vegeta had a high fever and extreme fatigue, two symptoms of mononucleosis. It might take weeks for a human exposed to the virus to show any symptoms, but with Saiyan biology, who knew?

Sure of her deductions, Bulma placed a call to the CC biological department. She knew they kept remedies on hand in case of emergency. When alerted to the situation, they urged Bulma to stay away from 'the infected' and assured her that a courier would be over shortly with 'emergency supplies'. Bulma hated the bio people for one reason: they were too cautious. Like hell was she staying away from Vegeta. She had mono as a teenager, and the alien collapsed on her couch would surely need to be cooled off, unless of course he liked brain damage. On the other hand, Bulma was no fool. She sanitized all her tools with her bunsen burner, and wiped everything not fire-retardant with rubbing alcohol. Just to be sure, she used her emergency shower and incinerated her clothes (A shame really. Those jeans were quite flattering.), wearing her emergency jumpsuit instead. Only after that did she return to Vegeta's side. She knew that an ice pack on his forehead wouldn't be enough. Feeling rather like the servant woman he thought she was, she removed his boots and socks, loosely binding a cold compress to each foot. His gloves were tossed aside as well. She then pulled his armor over his head. Luckily, he wore some of Yamcha's clothes underneath instead of his usual blue full-body suit. Even luckier, he wore a button up shirt.

Bulma blushed a violent crimson, and began undoing the buttons, praying he would stay unconscious and reminding herself that this was a necessary task. She started from the collar and worked her way down. The first few buttons weren't so bad. She had a mantra: This will help him. This will help him. Each button revealed a little more. By the fourth button, his pecs were completely bare. He must have worked hard to get muscles like those... She forced herself to think of Yamcha as she placed an ice pack across them. Her mantra was forgotten, but she was less hesitant than she had been only a minute ago. Two more buttons. Wow, his abs were so well defined. Bulma spread the shirt as wide as she could to lay the cold compress flat. She was feeling awfully warm herself. She unzipped the top half of her jumpsuit. The only person who might object was unconscious, anyway. The final two buttons were undone... Good god, you could grate cheese on that washboard... and she delicately placed the final compress.

Her mind continued to undress him. Bulma pinched the back of her hand in an attempt to regain her self-control. Apparently she was missing Yamcha more than she thought. Besides, it was really quite creepy of her to think inappropriately of an unconscious, albeit quite toned, man laying on her couch. She took a few deep, centering breaths and zipped her jumpsuit back up. Back to normal, Bulma, she reminded herself.

She met the courier outside in her bright orange emergency jumpsuit. He handed her a small bag containing some basic medical supplies and one syringe, then left rather hastily. Bulma examined the contents of the bag. The syringe came with instructions. "Inject into the ventrogluteal site or the vastus lateralis," she read aloud. Now Bulma had spent a lot of time with Goku, and patching him up gave her plenty of medical knowledge. Her father had been tutoring her on the subject, because as Capsule Corporation's future owner, she would need to know how to govern their medical research. With that said, she did not consider herself a medical expert. She guessed the latin words to be muscles, and her textbooks proved her right. Gluteal did in fact refer to the gluteus, and Bulma quickly ruled out that injection site. The embarrassment of unbuttoning a shirt was nothing compared to that of removing pants. The vastus lateralis, instead, was one of the thigh muscles. Luck, it seemed, was her guide today, for Vegeta wore shorts. She hiked up the closer leg of the garment, and injected the medicine.

Bulma lay on the floor, waiting for the medicine to take effect. Like everything around here, the cure was designed for human physiology. There was a distinct chance that the remedy might not work, and that she would have to take Vegeta to a hospital. It had been bad enough having Goku in the hospital after his fights with Vegeta and Nappa all those years ago, and he was a nice person. Vegeta, on the other hand, would destroy the building before donning a hospital gown. With that amusing thought, she drifted off to sleep.


	5. Grey Mood

Chapter 5: Grey Mood

Bulma hated the rain. She hated the cold and the wind that came with it. She hated driving on the slick roads with crazy drivers. She hated having to wrap herself in layers of warm, waterproof clothing every time she went outside, then leaving her clothes by the heater every time she came inside. But most of all, Bulma hated thunder and lightning. She remembered hiding in a closet or snuggling into her parents' warm, protective arms on more than one stormy occasion during her childhood. Even now, she jumped with every flash of lightning and crash of thunder as she walked to through the parking lot to her car. "You're not a child anymore, Bulma!" she reminded herself. "Grown women certainly aren't afraid of storms!" She shivered from both cold and delight as her hover car's little heater warmed her hands and the engine roared to life. She couldn't wait to get home today. It had been a long trying day of work. She'd attempted negotiate a deal with one of her employee unions, and their leader refused to compromise, even a little. Her secretary interrupted her every time she got a moment of rest with a new form to sign or a new appointment to see. Even the relaxation she normally got from her inventing eluded her today when the training bots she was building for the military malfunctioned and exploded. But, it was her anniversary tonight with her loving boyfriend of eleven years, Yamcha. She wondered what he had planned for her. He'd been unusually silent this year, thanks to his last minute business trip. Would he return home with roses? A romantic dinner, perhaps?

The anticipation was killing her as she opened the front door of her small house in the corner of her family's compound near Capsule Corp. She was greeted by darkness and silence. Either Yamcha wasn't there or he was extremely stealthy. "What a let down," she sighed, putting her purse down on her bed. She was more than a little disappointed. After such a long, challenging day of corporate schmoozing, she was looking forward to the night. But then she began to wonder, where was Yamcha? He said he would be there when she got home. She jumped a little as strike of lightning flashed outside her window. "One... two-" she counted before being interrupted by a peal of thunder, like she had when she was little, trying to determine the distance of the lightning strike from her house. Not even two miles away. She wished even harder that Yamcha was there.

As if in answer to her silent prayers, the door to her bedroom burst open. The figure standing in the doorway was of much shorter stature than she was expecting. It was not her Prince Charming, but rather the arrogant, self-centered, egotistical... and not to mention incredibly evil... 'Prince of all Saiyans' (as he so often reminded her). "Woman!" Vegeta growled. "Your damn gravity room is malfunctioning again. I can't get it to go above 150 times this pathetic planet's gravity!"

Bulma sighed. "That's because it can't go that high..."

"So fix it," he demanded, sounding like an impatient child forbidden from playing with his favorite toy.

She shook her head vigorously. "No way! I'm not going outside in this weather!"

"You'll go outside if I have to push you out there and lock the doors," he growled, taking several steps toward her, menacingly.

"I...I... could get struck by lightning!" she protested. "Or I could get a cold! You wouldn't want me to get sick. I wouldn't be able to fix your precious gravity room!"

He stopped dead in his tracks. He hadn't considered that. "You win this round, woman. But you'd better fix it as soon as the rain stops, or you won't be so lucky."

The saiyan strode from the room, and Bulma let out the breath she'd unwittingly been holding. She tried to call her scar-faced boyfriend, but received no response. After an hour and several frustrated messages, she gave up. Attempting to salvage her afternoon, she went downstairs and made a pot of tea. It was her favorite: a strong Darjeeling, with a hint of orange. Bulma added a little milk and sugar, and tasted it. When it was just the way she liked it, she moved into her living room and set her cup on an end table while she tossed some logs in the fireplace and made herself a cheery little blaze. The heiress ran upstairs, grabbed a blanket, then settled down on her cozy couch to watch television. She needed a distraction both from the weather and her relationship, or soon to be a lack thereof.

The television, however, was not kind. Every news station seemed to have a horrible story about a loved one dying in war, a husband murdering a wife, or lost children. There were romantic movies everywhere, which just depressed her about her own relationship. Even the nature channel was telling the story of polar bears drowning as the Arctic seas warmed. She gave up and turned it off, sighing heavily.

Why did Yamcha have to do this to her? Why today? Work had been especially rough today, and this weather always put her in a foul mood. "Stupid Yamcha," she muttered, throwing a pillow at the wall.

"Finally coming around to my way of thinking, eh woman?" a voice sneered. Just what Bulma needed: a perpetually-cranky alien who enjoyed turning her life into chaos.

"The bastard stood me up," she intoned morosely.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow as the human colloquialism soared over his head.

"It's our anniversary and he forgot," she clarified.

The Saiyan raised his other eyebrow. He did not know what this 'anniversary' thing was, but it sounded pathetic.

Bulma clicked her tongue in annoyance. She was always forgetting that her houseguest, no matter how human he looked, was extremely ignorant of her people's customs. "Humans celebrate the dates of important events, like birthdays and anniversaries, Vegeta. Yamcha and I started dating eleven years ago today. We should be celebrating."

"Then why are you whining and not celebrating. God knows my ears could use the break from your shrill voice."

"He forgot, Vegeta, or did you miss that part?" she snapped. "There's no point in celebrating a relationship when the other half of the couple is missing!"

"For a genius, woman, you sure can be dense. Who says you have to celebrate your coupling with the pathetic weakling?"

Bulma opened her mouth to retort, but swiftly closed it. Vegeta was actually right. She hadn't seen it that way. She should call Chi-chi and go have fun. Screw Yamcha... well not literally. He wouldn't be getting any for a while. For once appreciative of Vegeta, Bulma threw her arms around his neck in a quick hug, thanked him, and dashed to her room to get dressed. Her fingers were already dialing her best friend's phone number as she closed her bedroom door.

* * *

><p>The arrogant prince stood frozen in shock as the harpy, as he inwardly referred to her, flew up the stairs. What had just happened? He had implied that her mating with scar-faced milksop was not something to be celebrated, and she had attempted to strangle him! He had said much crueler things to her before and received no such treatment. How dare she raise a hand against the Prince of all Saiyans?!<p>

He ran his calloused fingers along his neck, tracing the places she had touched. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the situation. Why would she try to strangle him? The woman was no fool. She knew he could decimate her and her race without breaking a sweat. She seemed happy and grateful, though for what he had no clue. No, strangling didn't fit. How else was he to interpret her actions then? Kakarott had once insinuated that Earth women were... well... into some strange things. Ugh! Did the woman see him _that_ way? He rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to clear the lewd image his mind had conjured for him. He wasn't going to be able to un-see that one for a while... Then it occurred to him that he'd seen Kakarott wrap his arms around his rather violent mate in a similar fashion. That was it! It was a show of affection. It was so obvious, and yet Vegeta was still confused. He hated the blue-haired harpy, and she hated him. Why was she showing affection? The prince rubbed his temples as he felt a nasty headache forming, and elected to abandon the train of thought.

* * *

><p>Thirty minutes later, Bulma descended the stairs in a dark blue turtleneck and skinny jeans, the keys to her hover car in hand. Vegeta, who had been occupying himself with a mixed martial arts program, tore his gaze away from the television. He smirked, planning on insulting the wench. He did so enjoy provoking her. The biting comment died on his lips as he took in her appearance.<p>

Her ensemble clung to her feminine features, highlighting her curvy figure. Sure, she was... softer... than the average Saiyan female, but Vegeta had to admit that she looked damn good for an inferior species. The color of the turtleneck stood out vividly in his mind. She wore the color of Saiyan royalty, and she wore it well, he noted.

Bulma waved good bye as she hurried out the door, feeling rather smug at the stunned prince's silence. It was as close to a compliment as she ever received from the surly alien. She met Chi-chi at a storefront in town. Both women ran inside, dodging the rain. It was an antiquated little pottery shop that allowed people to paint their own ceramic items. The shop then glazed and fired the pottery, and returned it to their owners. Bulma was the first to admit that such a place was rather archaic, but occasionally she relished a break from technology.

Chi-chi found a cookie jar to paint almost immediately. Her last one had met an untimely fate. Apparently her son, trying to go Super Saiyan, had gotten a little too excited at a fresh batch of cookies. Bulma, on the other hand, elected to watch her friend. She was in no mood for painting; she was just there for the conversation. Chi-chi noted the look on her friend's face. "B, you seem off today. Did something happen?" She listened as she painted her jar a sky blue and detailed it with sunflowers.

Bulma nodded. "It's my anniversary with Yamcha."

"Then why are you here with me?" she asked, almost breaking her cookie jar. "Go get your man and do something!"

"He forgot, Chi," Bulma sighed. "I don't think he cares about me anymore."

It wasn't the first time Bulma had thought this either. She'd noticed things going south for a few years now. They'd bickered more than usual as he'd trained for the arrival of Vegeta and Nappa, but she had chalked it up to the stress of saving the Earth. She had lost it however, when she discovered him cheating. In fact, the last thing she had said to her lover before he died was that she "hoped he learned from his parents' mistake and used birth control".

Chi-chi nodded. "You two just haven't been the same around each other since he came back."

"I let him die angry at me, Chi. It tore me up the whole time I was stuck on Namek. Then he comes back to life, and all he cares about is training to beat Vegeta. He didn't even remember being mad at me. He didn't even listen to my apology!"

"Bulma, honey, none of us knew about the dragon balls on Namek. He probably let it go, since he thought he was dead for good."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Whose side are you on?" she demanded.

The housewife shrugged. "I'm just saying, he hasn't had it easy."

"I know, Chi-chi, I know. Maybe we rushed into things all those years ago. I mean he wasn't even capable of talking to women until me. I'd never had a boyfriend. That's why I went after the dragon balls in the first place."

"Just because it was a quick decision doesn't mean it was a bad one. Look at me. I mean I decided I was going to marry Goku after he accidentally felt me up."

Bulma laughed, remembering how her friends had met. "Okay I'll give you that one. But just because things worked out well for you two doesn't mean they're going to work out for us. Besides, I think Yamcha's cheating again."

"What gave you that idea?" Chi-chi knew that while her friend was incredibly logical and patient as far as science was concerned. When it came to men however, she could be rather unreasonable.

"I tried to surprise him at one of his baseball games. I caught him coming out of the locker room with come tramp well after the other team. Plus, they were both acting suspiciously."

"Ouch, that sounds like the real deal. So what now? Break up?"

"I don't want to throw away an eleven-year relationship. I settled for some revenge."

"Spill! What did you do?" Chi-chi demanded, setting down her paintbrush in favor of the gossip.

"Well... I invited Vegeta to stay with us," she said, biting her lip. "Too harsh?"

"Oof!" Chi-chi gasped. "Pretty harsh. I mean, he blames Vegeta for his death."

"It was the only thing I could think of."

"Normal women would make him sleep on the couch! What were you thinking? Between you and Goku, I've heard so many horrible stories about him."

Bulma sighed. "I've heard plenty of stories myself. I have to admit, I'm beginning to regret my decision. He bosses me around constantly, like I'm his servant or something."

"You put up with that?" Chi-chi couldn't picture the bluenette taking orders from anyone.

"He's easier to deal with when he's happy. Well... content. He always has something to complain about."

"You must spend all your time waiting on him," the mother sighed, empathizing with her friend.

"Pretty much. What other option do I have? You should see what he did to my kitchen when I didn't make him breakfast."

"B, it's not that simple. Yamcha probably feels like you've chosen the man responsible for his death over him."

Bulma's cheeks flushed as a wave of guilt washed over her. She had been neglecting her boyfriend. Regardless of Yamcha's fidelity, they had been drifting apart and she wasn't helping.

"Chi-chi, I think I need to excuse myself. I really should talk to Yamcha."

She hugged her friend goodbye, promising to see her soon, and sped back to her house.


	6. Heating Up

Chapter 6: Heating Up

Bulma unlocked her front door, hoping Yamcha would be there. A gorgeous display of roses had been arranged on her counter, and Yamcha himself sat on the couch in a well-fitted suit, seemingly pleased with himself.

Vegeta was noticeably absent. Bulma supposed he was sulking at the former-bandit's presence (and presents) in his gravity room. Of all the humans that the sultry prince put up with, Yamcha was his least favorite. Vegeta despised Goku, but Bulma was positive that he'd would rather spend a day picking daisies with the ignorant saiyan than her scar-faced boyfriend.

Bulma hugged Yamcha amorously, and ran upstairs to change. With the young woman in a slinky new dress she'd been saving for just such an occasion, the happy couple set of for a date. Yamcha had made them reservations at a fancy French restaurant on the other side of town. He apologized profusely for being so late for their anniversary, claiming that his plane had been delayed. Bulma had no way to know if he was being honest with her, so she decided to let him off the hook. It was certainly easy to be around Yamcha, she noted with a smile. They could talk for hours, as natural as breathing. Of course, that was only to be expected. They had been dating for eleven years after all. She laughed as Yamcha tried to impress her by ordering (poorly) in French. She'd laughed even harder when the waiter brought them the steaming plate of fried frogs' legs that he'd accidentally ordered. All in all, Bulma had a nice time.

At home, Yamcha had prepared a special dessert for her: apple cobbler. He'd made the dish when the first started dating in an attempt to impress the blue-haired genius. Trying to be nice, she told him it was her favorite dessert. In reality, cheesecake was her favorite; apple cobbler was toward the middle of the pack. She played along tonight, as she had in the past. Yamcha had more on his mind than dessert, especially given that it was their anniversary, and so the couple retreated to their bedroom. Bulma felt herself going through the motions, but her mind was elsewhere. Everything with Yamcha was so predictable, so safe. For the second time that day, she thought back to the first search for the Dragon Balls and her wish for the perfect boyfriend. Sure it wasn't the most noble of wishes, but it was better than Oolong's. At first she thought she had gotten her wish without the power of the Dragon Balls. Looking back, however, she thought that perfect was a rather generous description of Yamcha. He was a weakling, maybe not physically, but emotionally. He showered her in gifts, praised her beauty and intellect, and practically worshiped the ground she walked on. He was no challenge for her. Maybe that was why she enjoyed her verbal spats with Vegeta so much.

The force of her thoughts hit her like a Kamehameha to the gut. Vegeta was not welcome in her bedroom thoughts! With great force of will, she turned her attention back to Yamcha as he finished. She faked. Like the apple cobbler, the lie was better for him. He snuggled next to her, exhausted and satisfied. "Good night Bulma," he whispered in her ear. "I love you." She reflexively responded, "Love you too." She wondered if it was a lie.

* * *

><p>Bulma rose late the next morning. An impatient Saiyan sat at the kitchen table, ravenous as always. More so, since she hadn't made him breakfast this morning. She walked into the kitchen, trying to hold strong under the furious glare of his onyx eyes. "What are you hungry for?" she asked.<p>

"That pasta with the red stuff you made last week wasn't bad," he replied darkly. She translated his comment as a request for spaghetti.

"Aww Vegeta! That's almost a compliment coming from you," she teased. "In a sappy mood today, are we?"

That made him flinch. No one called the Prince of all Saiyans a sap and got away with it! "Apparently _you_ are. You reek like that weakling mate of yours. Tired of crying into your cups about him or something?"

"He's not weak!" she replied reflexively, though she knew that if by some freak accident, Vegeta became a quadriplegic, he could probably still defeat Yamcha.

"He's strong for a human," Vegeta squeaked in a poor imitation of the heiress's voice. "Well there's your problem: he's human," he replied in his normal tone. "Come on woman. We've had this conversation so many times I can literally say your lines. In case you've forgotten, I always win."

Bulma sighed, bowing her head in defeat. He had her there. Vegeta was disappointed that she had given in so easily. The kitchen settled into an uneasy silence, broken only when the pasta boiled over. Cussing, Bulma ran to turn down the heat.

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. Bulma normally demanded perfection in everything she did. A mistake like this revealed her pre-occupied mind to even Vegeta, who was about as personable as a hungry tiger, which seeing as he lacked food, he was starting to resemble. Impatient, he pushed her out of the way and removed the lid from the boiling pasta. "Just tell me what to do, wench. You're clearly incapable of cooking at the moment."

Bulma nodded and sat down. Her worries about Yamcha were starting to affect routine parts of her life. Bulma knew she needed to stop worrying or solve their problems, but that was easier said than done. Instead, she distracted herself by guiding the prince through heating the sauce and cooking some Italian sausages. The sausages were rather burnt, due to the fact that a certain hasty Saiyan had decided to cook them at the hottest possible temperature to speed up the process. The sauce stuck to the bottom of the pan, and so did the pasta. In fact, when the spaghetti was done, it took all of Bulma's self-control not to spit out her first bite.

"How much salt did you put in here?" she demanded, reaching for her water.

"A pinch," he replied haughtily. "Just like you said."

"That tastes like a lot more than a pinch."

"Well, I have big fingers," the saiyan muttered defensively.

The sheer ridiculousness of Vegeta's comeback made Bulma snort with laughter. She had to admit that without even trying, she had so much more fun in the last half-hour than she did all last night with Yamcha. She took a few more pained bites.

"Vegeta, it is official," she announced. "You are the worst cook I know."

"Silence, you insufferably shrew. You should have been the one cooking."

"I know, and I'm paying for it now," she sighed. "Thank you for lunch, Vegeta."

He muttered something incomprehensible as he left the room. Bulma thought it sounded like, "You're welcome, woman." She smiled to herself as she began on the dishes. Her inner turmoil was as bay, for the moment.


	7. Unanticipated

Chapter 7: Unanticipated

Bulma's secretary had informed her that all of her appointments that day had cancelled, so the heiress had decided to take the day off and work on her poor, neglected battle bots in her home laboratory. Right now, they were little more than glorified target practice. She considered the best ways to strengthen them as she installed a submachine gun in a bot's arm. Her mind turned toward the most violent person she knew: Vegeta. She pictured him vaporizing all of her precious bots with a single ki blast, and decided to make ki shields for all of them. If she could think of a way, she'd give them ki guns too. She also drew inspiration from the short alien's musculature. Her current bots were delicate, ranged artillery, but stood no chance in close combat. Bulma thought that they should be more versatile. SMG installed, she began to sketch the new plans.

When Vegeta retired from the gravity room that evening, he was quite frustrated. That buffoon Kakarot had become a Super Saiyan. Why couldn't he? Was he not the Prince of all Saiyans, that knucklehead's superior in every way? Were the legends right when they said there could only be one Super Saiyan in a millennia? Was his goal an impossible one? Plagued by self doubt, Vegeta retreated to the kitchen to placate his stomach. The woman, who had been holed up in her lab all day, had ordered pizza for dinner. She'd taken a few slices down to her lab and left remaining two and a half pizzas on the kitchen counter for her guest to devour after training. The genius was even kind enough to give him instructions to the microwave so he could have his pizza hot. Impatient as always, the Saiyan heated half a pizza, eating the other half while he waited. A glance at the clock told him it was 11:00 PM. He had trained late today. He went upstairs to his room, thinking to change clothes as he waited for his food. As he passed the heiress's room, however, he noted that the door was open. The woman wasn't there. Knowing her, Vegeta assumed she fell asleep in her lab. A frightening smile crossed his face as he considered several unpleasant ways to wake her. Abandoning all thoughts of changing clothes, he proceeded to the lab, chuckling darkly.

Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her face was covered by a welding mask. Small flecks of slag decorated her heavy work smock as she welded the shoulder joint of a battle bot. She stood up, inspected her work, and removed her mask. "Just in time, Vegeta," Bulma said as he opened the door warily. "I just finished my battle bot. Want to test it for me?"

Disappointed that his prey was quite wide awake, he obliged her by firing a lazy ki blast at it. It deflected off the bot and bounced into a beaker, shattering it. He froze in place, eyes wide in surprise. He certainly wasn't expecting that. Bulma walked over to the bot and tapped a small, metal pack on it's back. "Ki deflectors," she smiled. "Shall we take this outside?" she asked, glancing at the shattered glass. Vegeta nodded, picked up the bot, and sped outside. He was so eager, his feet didn't even touch the floor.

Vegeta placed the bot in the middle of the Briefs' yard, and unleashed another, much larger, ki blast. As before, it deflected. This time, it made a sizable divot in the grass, tossing chunks of soil into the air. The Saiyan prince smiled, for once genuine. Bulma caught up to the impatient alien, panting. She clutched a small remote in her tiny hands. She flicked a switch, and the robot raised its arm. One more button and it fired a stream of bullets. Vegeta caught them all easily. Bulma pushed a few more buttons, and a laser fired from the other arm. He lightly sidestepped, causing the beam to hit the grass and start a small blaze. The prince casually smothered it with the bottom of his boot, eager for more.

"Ready to try its melee capabilities?" she asked. He rolled his eyes, which Bulma interpreted as a 'yes'. The bot raised its arms and charged. The metal contraption aimed for his gut, but the prince deftly dodged. Bulma tried a few more attacks, but it was quite clear the bot was not fast enough for the Saiyan. After a few swings, all misses, she shut it off. "It still needs some work," she admitted. "Since I have to make some improvements anyway, is there something I should add?"

He rubbed his left pectoral where Frieza's glorified ki blast had pierced and killed him. "Make it shoot ki." She promised to try.

* * *

><p>Bulma stretched wide, yawning, as she walking into the kitchen for her morning cup of coffee. It was 6:30, later than usual, and a pair of jet black eyes stared impatiently. "Good morning, Vegeta," she said cheerily, knowing her mood would bait the cranky saiyan into one of their verbal battles.<p>

"What's so good about it?" he growled. Apparently he was hungry.

Bulma smiled, extra-wide. "Blueberry pancakes."

"Can you eat those? In case you hadn't noticed, woman, my breakfast was supposed to be half an hour ago, and I'm starving."

"You're always starving, Vegeta."

"Well then get cooking, wench."

"Why don't you?" she retorted.

"Funny, I thought you'd remember the last time I tried that."

She did, in fact, remember that little incident. It was a rather vivid memory. At a loss for witty responses, she began to pull out the necessary ingredients, muttering about rude aliens. Vegeta relished the silence, and in a moment of weakness, the view. Bulma had bent down to pull her griddle pan from the bottom cabinet, where she stored things she rarely used. The stubborn prince admitted that for a human weakling, she was rather attractive. It had been a while since he had a woman, though that was mostly his former partner's fault. God dammit Nappa. His annoyance at his dead comrade preoccupied his mind until the smell of pancakes wafted off the griddle. Bulma put six on a plate and set them in front of her hungry houseguest. He inhaled them before the next batch was ready, which was quite the feat when you consider how fast pancakes cook on a hot griddle.

"Did you like them?" Bulma teased. Vegeta grunted as a form of acknowledgment, holding out his plate for more. He ate a full two dozen pancakes before he was sated, a lofty amount even by Saiyan standards. Trying to make polite conversation, Bulma said, "These are one of my favorite foods." The Saiyan kept eating, and her attempt fell flat. Bulma Briefs would not be defeated so easily, and decided to go with a more direct approach. "Do you have a favorite food, Vegeta?"

"No," he spluttered tersely through the last few bites of pancake.

"Come on. You must like something." No response. "If you tell me, I'll make it for you," she coaxed.

"So long as it's not food capsules, I'm happy."

"Those sound revolting."

"They are."

"Then why do you eat them?" she asked, her inquisitive nature getting the better of her.

"Woman, the only creatures in this universe who care what their food tastes like live on this little mudball you call a planet."

"Well food is social for us."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow. "Social?"

"Yes social, Vegeta. Humans try not to eat alone. We normally eat with our friends and family."

He snorted. "And enemies apparently."

Unabashed, Bulma shot back. "I generally make exceptions for enemies who could save the Earth."

He stood up, leaned over the table and looked her straight in the eyes. "Look wench, all I care about is beating that buffoon Kakarot into a bloody pulp and resuming my place as the Alpha of my species."

Bulma crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "Call it what you like, but you're not nearly as evil as you pretend to be," she smirked.

"Did you forget that I ordered the deaths of your friends? I take that back. The small one blew himself up. Your scar-faced little pet certainly hasn't forgotten."

"Ever since Frieza was defeated, you seem different," she observered, wisely glancing over Goku's role in the tyrant's vanquishing.

Vegeta growled. The woman was calling him soft. Him! The Prince of all Saiyans! "I murdered entire races, destroyed planets. I even killed my own partner, and suddenly you forget that I can kill you too."

"I haven't forgotten, but like I said, your freedom has changed you, like it or not."

He gave up. "There's just no winning with you, is there, woman?"

"For the last time, you arrogant ass, my name is not woman. It's Bulma. Bul-ma."

"I am well aware, but servants don't get names. Get used to it."

Bulma stormed out of the room.

Vegeta considered getting a scoreboard as he mentally awarded himself a point.

* * *

><p>It had been a busy day at Capsule Corp, and Bulma's office was the center of action. Lately, her father had been passing more and more responsibilities onto his daughter in preparation for his retirement. The young woman was naturally organized, a genius inventor, and somewhat of a hero to the young CC employees ever since she posed for the cover of <em>Science Illustrated<em>. It wasn't that Bulma minded her new leadership role - in fact, she enjoyed it. It was the constant interruptions that drove her batty. 'Sign this, Miss Briefs.' 'Can we ship the new capsules, Miss Briefs?' 'Your 2:00 is here, Miss Briefs.' The mere memory of her secretary's voice grated on her nerves. It wasn't that she disliked the woman, but she certainly disliked the distractions she represented. Bulma glanced down at her battle bot plans, which she'd been trying to refine all day. She hadn't written a thing. Sighing, the heiress shoved them back in her desk drawer and packed up to go home.

Still hoping to salvage her evening, she decided to call her boyfriend. The phone rang several times, with Yamcha picking up on the last ring. "Hello?"

"Hi darling..." Bulma answered, cheerier than she actually felt.

"Bulma, honey. What do you need?" came Yamcha's husky voice.

Bulma was about to ask if he remembered their plans tonight when she heard giggling - feminine giggling - in the background. She had been suspecting for weeks that he had been cheating, but hoped it wasn't true. Unfortunately, this seemed like pretty definitive proof. He was going to pay for this, most certainly, but it would be when she had him within arm's reach. Pretending she hadn't noticed a thing, she said, "Oh sorry sweetie. I didn't know you had guests."

Yamcha tried to cover his tracks. "Oh you know, team meeting."

"Well... I guess I'll let you get back to them."

"Thanks hon. I'll call you tomorrow," he promised, hanging up.


	8. Forget for a While

Chapter 8: Forget for a While

Bulma threw the phone angrily in the corner, then collapsed onto her bed in a fit of rage and tears. How dare he cheat on her! She was Bulma Briefs, genius scientist and famed beauty. She was a catch! The furious heiress alternated between punching her pillow and crying into it. As her rage lessened, her loneliness grew. All night, she'd just been waiting for Yamcha to come over her, give her a hug, stroke her hair, and tell her everything would be all right. She needed a drink.

Bulma's normal beverage of choice was a strawberry daiquiri, perfect for lounging by the pool and soaking up the sun. Tonight, however, she needed something stronger. She pulled a massive handle of whiskey from under the kitchen counter. She'd bought it, among other drinks, for a party that fell through when she'd flown off to Namek. No sense in letting it go to waste, right? She poured herself a shot, letting the burn consume her emotional trauma. She poured another, and another. She was on her sixth shot when Vegeta sauntered into the kitchen, hungry as always. His nose wrinkled at the unpleasant smell of the alcohol.

"Are you trying to poison yourself, woman?" he asked.

"Of course not, you silly goose," came the reply.

Vegeta paused, raising an eyebrow. He did not resemble a goose, did he? Not to mention that the last person to call him silly, he had personally murdered in an excessively violent way. The Prince of all Saiyans was not silly! How dare she! He turned to her, about to give the heiress a piece of his mind. She was nonchalantly opening a beer, apparently unaware of the grievous error she had made. The almost idiotic look on her face (How much she resembled Kakarott, that buffoon!) made him realize she wasn't quite in her right mind. The only cause could be that mysterious brown liquid. He approached it cautiously, as if it might spring to life and bite his royal nose. Vegeta gave it a tentative sniff, and reeled in disgust. "That can't be safe to drink..." he said skeptically.

"But 'Geta! It's sooooo tasty! You know you wanna try some."

He scoffed, but she immediately rushed to pour him a glass, eyes bright with childlike enthusiasm. She hadn't even waited for an answer! Bulma pushed the cold glass into his hands and waited expectantly. When it became clear that the Saiyan wasn't intending to drink it, she pouted, and looked at him with her very best puppy-dog eyes. Vegeta despised puppies (How dare they expect him to scratch their bellies? He was royalty!), but those big blue eyes made him feel inexplicably guilty. Attempting to placate the newfound emotion welling in the pit of his stomach, he sighed, took a deep breath, and downed the drink.

Bah! The wench lied! It tasted exactly as vile as it smelled. His hands flew to his throat. It was on fire! He could feel the drink burning as it descended. Vegeta grasped for something, anything, to quench the flames. Unfortunately, he grabbed Bulma's beer. The poor Saiyan choked and sputtered, but swallowed the beer in hopes of calming his throat. Bulma placed another glass in his hand. Foolishly, he drank it. Blast that woman! It was more whiskey! He seethed with rage.

The inebriated genius was rolling on the floor, shaking with laughter so intense that she couldn't even make a sound. He chuckled, feeling his rage fade away as the alcohol took effect. He couldn't remember why he was angry. The burning sensation had faded, and so had his regular aches and pains from constant training. He felt almost numb. Why was he so focused on training? Why was he frustrated that he couldn't go Super Saiyan like the idiot? He took another sniff of the whiskey. It didn't smell nearly as bad as it had the first time. He grabbed the whole handle, taking a few long swigs. It would be nice to forget for a while.

Several minutes and several drinks later, Bulma and Vegeta were side by side on the couch. A black and white kung fu movie had somehow found its way onto the television. Funny, neither remembered putting it on. The acting was horrendous, particularly the fights, and like so many things in their current state, it threw them into fits of laughter. "Come on!" Vegeta yelled at the screen. "How was that supposed to kill him?"

Bulma smiled mischievously. "Oh, you didn't know? Kneecaps are humans' fatal weaknesses." Vegeta reached over and poked her knee, sniggering as she reeled in mock pain. Bulma soaked it all in. She loved Vegeta's laughter - the real kind, not the evil snigger that escaped when he knew he'd cornered her in one of their verbal battles. This was pleasant laughter. It made him seem sweet, unspoiled, like he could have been if he grew up like Goku. It kind of made her want to hug him. Purely in a friendly way, she inwardly clarified.

By the time the movie ended with the ridiculous hero defeating an entire evil organization with nothing but his fists, Bulma was fast asleep on the couch. Vegeta turned the television off, and basked in the silence. He gradually became aware of a soft sound. It was the gentle motion of air: Bulma's breathing. It's regularity was soothing, and he soon found himself watching the rise and fall of her chest. He stayed like that until he felt himself sinking into sleep.

Vegeta rose with a stretch, still rather dizzy, and walked to his room, pausing at the foot of the stairs. The woman did have work the next day. The guilty feeling that had possessed him to drink in the first place nagged for him to turn back. Without really considering why, he turned back and picked up the sleeping heiress. His right hand supported her back while his left lifted her from behind the knees. Her head gently rested on his right shoulder. The saiyan carried her up the stairs, walking as smoothly as possible so as not to disturb her rest. Vegeta laid the woman in her four-poster bed, and even placed a pillow under her head. After one last glance, he exited the room and proceeded to his own.


	9. Expect the Unexpected

Chapter 9: Expect the Unexpected

Bulma awoke the next morning with a splitting headache. She was annoyed by the bright sunlight streaming in her bedroom window, until she remembered falling asleep on the couch. Had she woken up and gotten in her bed? She'd blacked out a time or two and forgotten things, but she didn't think she had that much to drink last night... How had it happened, then? The only logical thought she could come up with was that Vegeta had carried her up her, but she quickly dismissed it. It was more likely that she had taken sleepwalking to a whole new level: sleep flying. Then again, Vegeta wasn't his usual irritable self last night. She'd never seen him so relaxed. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she remembered his laughter. For once his teasing was endearing, instead of insulting and annoying. Why couldn't he be like that all the time? She was sure that cured of the magic of booze, he would be back to his usual aggressive self. Even worse, he'd be his usual self with a killer hangover.

She was only partially right. Sure enough, he'd woken up with a headache that made him fondly remember his death on Namek. First thing, he'd sprinted to the bathroom with less grace than usual and voided his stomach into the toilet. Cursing himself as a fool and the woman for tempting him with her wicked magic drinks, he rushed to the gravity room, eager to make up for lost time. He turned the gravity up to 200 times Earth's gravity, noting happily that the woman had improved the mechanics over the past week. Blast it! He was trying not to think of her. Ever the warrior, he forced all of his mental capacities into counting push-ups. 1...2...3... and then he heard the sound of his breathing, which reminded him of the sound of her breathing as he carried her up the stairs last night. His head pounded from a combination of annoyance at himself and the remaining effects of the liquor. He started over: 1...2...3...4... What had he been thinking anyway? He should have just left her on the couch. The vain prince tried to convince himself that it was to avoid the incessant whining that would have occurred had she spent the whole night there. He knew it was a lie. 1...2... What the heck had possessed him to take that drink? He remembered those piercing blue eyes and pained expression, and how they'd torn him up on the inside. It only made him punch the floor in rage. He'd gone soft. There was a point in his life when he would have blasted the thrice-damned woman to bit for all of her transgressions, and laughed while doing so. Yet she was still alive. He could not explain why.

After consuming a few aspirin and a copious amount of water, Bulma headed down to her basement laboratory. She faxed some paperwork to her secretary, and then she was free to research. Well... almost. Bulma had promised Vegeta that she would improve the gravity room if he would stop dropping snide hints about Yamcha's infidelity. The saiyan had been true to his word, so she supposed she had to be too. She laid out the blueprints on her work table, examining the current mechanism.

Bulma had hardly put pencil to paper when her titanium-alloy, fire-resistant lab door slid open and her mother, Bunny, waltzed in.

"Bulma, sweetie! I haven't seen you in days!" the vivacious blonde remarked, throwing her arms around her daughter.

Bulma laughed. "We live on the same lot, Mom. You must have been busy. I know I was."

Her mother nodded fervently. "I've been planning the gala for the release of your new little project. Your father is so excited that his little girl finished those oxygen capsules. He said his secretaries having been getting calls from companies all around the world, most of them looking to buy your capsules or hire you away from him." Bulma beamed with pride. "Actually sweetie, that's why I'm here," she continued almost breathlessly. "I wanted some of your input on the gala. I thought we could go have appetizers at a few restaurants that I might like to have cater the event."

The thought of food at this particular moment nauseated Bulma. Her hangover from last night's events was still quite potent; food would only aggravate the problem. Thinking on her feet, she immediately thought of someone who could never say no to food: her childhood friend and recent savior of the world, Goku. "Gee Mom," she said, trying to sound disappointed. "I just ate a huge breakfast. Why don't you ask Goku to go?"

"Sorry honey," Bunny explained. "I don't think he even tastes the food when he eats."

Her mother had a point. Goku was notorious for missing his mouth with food. She remembered that he frequently needed a bath after meals when they were younger, and occasionally still did. Thank goodness Chi-chi had threatened to stop feeding him until he 'slowed down and ate like he wasn't a zoo animal'. "Not one of my better ideas, I'll admit," Bulma giggled.

Bunny thought for a moment, then said, "What about Mr. Vegeta, darling? He has as much of an appetite as Goku, but with a lot more self-control."

Bulma let out a very unladylike snort. She tried to imagine the stubborn prince taking elegant bites of spinach puffs and delicate sips of tea. The heiress attempted to stifle her laughter. She watched as the scene in her mind morphed to the outside of a prestigious restaurant blossoming in flames, ki blasting from the windows as terrified patrons, dressed to the hilt, ran for their lives. That seemed like the more realistic outcome. Regaining her self-control, she responded. "You can ask him, Mom, but I doubt he'll want to go." Bunny paid her daughter no heed, and decided to ask him anyway.

Bulma shrugged as her mother left the room. She was positive Vegeta would turn her mother down, yet was confident that her mother was in no danger. Normally, anyone who interrupted Vegeta's training sessions was placing their life in serious jeopardy. Bulma's parents, however, seemed to develop an immunity to his Saiyan wrath. For the first few days after she brought the intergalactic mass murder to live with them, Bulma was terrified for her parents' lives, and took every excuse to send them away from the house. Then Bunny made Vegeta cookies. The constantly-starving Saiyan ate four dozen asked for more. Even better, Bulma remembered with a giggle, her mother had made him say 'please' each time he demanded for more. The proud prince begrudgingly complied, and even thanked Bunny zealously lest she cut off his precious cookie supply. After seeing her mother completely control Vegeta, Bulma stopped worrying for her. Her father was safe as well. Ever the scientist, Mr. Briefs was delighted to have a test subject for his military inventions, creating an entire team of battlebots for the saiyan without being asked. Vegeta trained with them and demanded upgrades, which unlike his daughter, Dr. Briefs was excited to make. He loved the ideas! Bulma knew Vegeta wasn't about to bite the hands that, both literally and figuratively, fed him. The worst that would happen would be that the lunch plans were cancelled, and since that was exactly what the heiress was after, she felt rather pleased as she sat back down to work.

Unfortunately for Bulma, things didn't go exactly as planned. Bunny returned for her daughter shortly, with surprising news. "Mr. Vegeta said he would be delighted to come with us. You won't have to eat much, sweetie, I promise." Trying to wipe the stunned look off her face, Bulma went upstairs to get ready.


	10. Carpe diem

Chapter 10: Carpe diem

Shortly thereafter, Bulma and Mrs. Briefs' jet car met Vegeta (as he grew impatient with human transportation methods) at a tiny, elegant Italian cafe. Bunny ordered them a large spread of appetizers: tomato and basil bruschetta, tuna carpaccio, bell pepper tarradls, meatballs, three kinds of antipasti, artichoke crostini, and several baskets of bread sticks coated in liberal amounts of garlic. Bulma and her mother chatted gaily about their various favorites, while Vegeta continued to eat. He consumed copious amounts of anything ordered, eating rapidly, but dignified. For once, Bulma was reminded of his royal heritage without the cranky prince shouting it at her. He ate all but two of everything, leaving one for each Mrs. Briefs and her daughter. This was not entirely intentional, for the two Briefs women learned to take one each as soon as the plates arrived. Bunny pestered the Saiyan for his opinions until she realized that he just liked everything with garlic, and the more the better. Afterwards she directed her questions toward her daughter's more sophisticated palate. Bulma's favorite was the carpaccio, which she actually managed to get an extra piece of while Vegeta was preoccupied with the garlic breadsticks. Her mother loved the crostini, and decided to order some for the gala. She also ordered a few extra breadsticks to be delivered to her house, just to keep her hostile houseguest in line.

Seeing as Bulma and her mother were both stuffed, Mrs. Briefs made an executive decision to save the rest for another day. Vegeta, who had eaten the majority of eight appetizers (and several baskets of bread sticks), four entrees, and two soups, made it clear that he didn't mind continuing.

Bulma snorted at that. "Vegeta, if you keep eating at this rate, you're going to look like Dodoria."

Her insult didn't phase him. "Please woman, I have a fantastic metabolism and I train daily. You're the one who should be careful."

"Like I could worry about my weight if you're around! I barely ate anything today, thanks to your ravenous appetite."

He scoffed. "I have a perfectly normal appetite for a Saiyan."

"You have a perfectly normal diet for a future diabetic too."

"I shall find this pathetic planet's Dragon Balls and wish for immortality. Then it won't matter."

"Why bother training then?" she snapped.

"Would you like your planet to be annihilated? I can just leave..."

"We've got Goku."

"And this breadstick has more brains that he does," Vegeta retorted as he shoved the last breadstick into his mouth. "I am the Prince of All Saiyans," he declared, showering Bulma with crumbs. "I am far superior to that buffoon!"

"Yes... yes... we've all heard that rant before."

"Well excuse me for being right."

"Oh please. Goku kicked your butt before, and he can do it again." She had him there.

Vegeta sighed, and dropped his napkin on the table. When he flew off several minutes later, it was in surly silence, pouting like a child.

Bulma happily got in the jet car, pleased with her victory. As big as Bulma's smile was, her mother's far outshone it, which confused the young genius. "What are you so happy about, Mom?" the bluenette asked.

"Oh nothing," the blonde woman replied. It was far from nothing though. She always enjoyed watching her daughter bicker with the young alien living in their home. Bulma had been dating the scarfaced bandit, Yamcha, for over a decade now, but she'd always felt that their relationship lacked something. It reminded her of her own high school years, when she'd dated a few boys before marrying her darling husband a few years later. Yamcha was a nice boy, but she knew he wasn't her daughter's future husband. Bunny was the first to admit that she wasn't the brightest knife in the crayon box, but she knew relationships, and she saw that her daughter's bickering with the handsome prince could easily blossom into a happy relationship. She simply didn't want to jinx it by explaining this to her stubborn daughter.

When Bulma got home, she retreated back to her lab. Deciding she'd made enough progress for one day, she changed projects. Since witnessing the alien healing pods on Namek, she'd wanted to recreate them, and had pestered Vegeta endlessly for details about him. It got to the point where he feigned deafness whenever she brought up the subject. Regardless, Bulma had enough information to get a head start. The secret was the formula in the pod, and less of the pod itself. While biological sciences weren't her forte, she was still more educated than the average person on the subject. Traveling with Goku, and not to mention her other martial artist friends, had seen to that. While the young Saiyan healed faster than members of her races, she had still had plenty of practice fixing minor injuries. In fact, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, she took a few first aid courses. She had cleaned and wrapped scrapes and cuts, stitched up a few wounds, splinted sprains, and had even set bones and relocated joints. Goku hit hard.

She hadn't worked long when a distant explosion rocked the room. She rushed outside, fire extinguisher in hand, to the most likely source. After all, where there was smoke, there was fire and where there was fire, there was Vegeta... The genius thanked her lucky stars that she had installed an emergency unlock function on the gravity room door. It opened with a hiss as the room rapidly decompressed. Bulma shivered. The air flowing from the room was freezing. She went inside anyway.

Leaning against the wall, gingerly touching a mangled arm, was the source of most of her problems lately: the arrogant saiyan prince himself. His injuries were ghastly. Vegeta's arm was broken in two places below the elbow, and his radius (or ulna, Bulma couldn't remember which) jutted out of the skin at an unnatural angle. She could clearly see that his shoulder was dislocated. Assessing the rest of the situation, Bulma found the source of the explosion. A dense fog poured from a hole in the floor, which exposed a broken nitrogen tank, remnants of the diamagnet cooling system which allowed the gravity room to function. That meant the fog seeping from the hole was undoubtedly nitrogen, and she needed almost no medical knowledge to know that breathing nitrogen was unhealthy. She should get herself out of here. Bulma glanced over at Vegeta again. His eyes were closed, and he wasn't moving. Was he even conscious? She walked over to him, and checked his pulse, sighing with relief when she felt a faint beat.

Dazed from blood loss, the sudden decompression, lack of oxygen, and of course the explosion, Vegeta shook his head. His ears rang loudly. A flash of blue caught his eye. The woman! Why was she here? When did she get here? Was she hurt? He cracked an eye open. The woman's mouth was moving, but her couldn't hear a word she said. He felt a sharp stabbing in his side as bits of shrapnel dug into his perforated flesh. The woman had wrapped his good arm around her neck, and was attempting to pull him to his feet. He pushed her away feebly and slowly, painfully, stood. He might be injured, but he still had his pride. Bulma put his arm back around her neck, wrapping hers around his waist. She helped him limp to the door, not remotely caring about his pride. Once outside, he collapsed against a tree, panting in pain.

Bulma left him for a moment to gather some medical supplies. When she returned, he had a pained expression on his face. Bulma had never seen him reveal that much emotion before, but his expression sobered when he belatedly heard her approach. He noticed that she held a medical textbook, some thick gauze, and of all things, a wooden spoon. He couldn't figure out what it was for, but at this point, he didn't really care.

"I'm going to fix your shoulder," she informed him calmly. Then she held out the spoon. "You'll want this."

"For?" he managed between gasping breaths.

"It's going to hurt."

The heiress positioned herself at his side. He barely heard her over the persistent ringing in his ears, but gathered what was going on. He placed the spoon between his teeth with his good arm and nodded carefully. "3...2...1..." she counted.

He inhaled swiftly, anticipating the pain, but nothing happened. She started over, clearly less confident than she looked. "3...2...1..." Nothing again.

"Dammit woman!" he yelled, spitting the spoon into his lap. "Do it already!"

Clenching her eyes shut, she bent his elbow and folded his arm over his chest, rotating his shoulder inward. She then rotated his lower arm slowly away from his body, coaxing the ball of the joint back into the socket. Vegeta suddenly understood why the spoon was important as he bit his tongue and dug his fingers into the grass. Bright spots flashed before his eyes as he lost consciousness again.

Gentle touches awoke the injured prince. Bulma's fingers trailed along his back as she wrapped gauze around his chest and over his shoulder to hold his repaired joint in place. He twitched his fingers, checking to make sure they still functioned. They moved but were hampered by a gauze sling. Bulma must have put it on him while he was still out cold. He checked his left arm as well. It seemed fine. Vegeta casually plucked a piece of concrete from his side. Bulma swatted his arm away. "Hold still," she muttered. Vegeta heard her this time, though the ringing in his ears persisted. He closed his eyes and leaned against the tree, submitting himself to her ministrations. She handed him six red and blue pills. "Chew," she said. He did, though they tasted awful, and coated his tongue and throat with an awful chalky paste. He didn't remember her grabbing any pills, and frankly, had no idea what they did, but he trusted the blue-haired woman. He had done nothing to deserve her kindness, but she had never steered him wrong before. Bulma changed sides and began to pick out the shrapnel. He tried to retain some semblance of dignity, but it was hard not to flinch. He struggled to hold still, trying to think about something, anything, but the pain wracking his body. The woman grabbed his biceps to hold his left arm down as she pulled the bits of metal from the gashes in the skin. He focused on her touch.

Her hand was warm and soft, but coated in a thin layer of sweat. She gripped with her fingertips, harder than necessary. It might have caused a human pain, but he was a superior being and his skin could take the additional pressure. He opened an eye, sneaking a glance at the woman. Her blue hair hung in her eyes as she deftly manipulated a pair of tweezers. Her pink tongue ever so slightly protruded from the corner of her mouth, betraying her level of concentration. She blew the hair out of her way, and he closed his eye. For some reason, the thought of her catching his glance was... well... embarrassing, an emotion he thought he conquered long ago. Vegeta couldn't comprehend why he felt the way he did. He admitted that of all the people he was forced to associate with, he disliked the woman the least. He enjoyed provoking her, and when she bickered with him. The way she blushed when she was angry always made him feel smug. Hell, he liked the woman, he admitted to himself, though he would rather die before saying it out loud. Somehow, he felt a little better.

Bulma forced herself to concentrate on the prince's knee as she hiked the leg of his training shorts up to his thigh. His muscles twitched a little as she pulled out a particularly large shard of metal. She ran her fingers along his thigh, wiping away a little blood but mostly caressing the bulging muscle. Damn, he had a nice body. Bulma's eyes travelled up his bare chest. She bit her lip, regaining self control. "I'll be right back Vegeta. I need some peroxide," she said, leaving before she could do anything fooling. Once inside, she took her time, and several very controlled breaths. She couldn't help him if she was distracted. When she felt back in control of her hormones, she grabbed the peroxide and a soft cloth, and returned to his side.

Vegeta sighed as she walked away, and enjoyed the view of her receding figure. If she were a saiyan, he would have taken her as his mate weeks ago. She was smart, beautiful, and though less muscled then her alien counterparts, strong in her own way. He thought back on all the women who had mattered to him at a time. None of them were as perfect for him as she was. They were all rather dim. They bored him. This one, however... His pride reminded him of who he was. The saiyan prince shouldn't sully the royal bloodline by mingling with members of an inferior race. This had to stop. He had to regain control of the situation.

The woman returned and began to clean his chest wounds. On second thought, there weren't any saiyan women left. Beggars can't be choosers. Vegeta laid back and let the woman do her job. Her red, polished nails lightly scratching his skin felt divine. He would enjoy this while he could. He would train here and then he would pulverize Kakarot. Then he would leave this planet behind and go make a name for himself out in the universe.

Bulma stood up and brushed her hands off on her jeans. "All done," she announced cheerily. Vegeta stood up and inspected his physical state. The woman had mended everything she could. His shoulder was set, and would mend on its own. She had set the bones in his arm, and splinted them in place. She'd put his arm in a sling and bandaged his shoulder to speed the mending. The shrapnel was gone, and she had bandaged every last cut and scrape. A doctor could hardly have done a better job. He was impressed, not something that happened very often. He nodded, approving her work, and began to limp inside. She moved to help him. His unshakable pride had bent a little today. What was a little more? He accepted the help.

Bulma guided him to the couch, and turned away, planning on walking upstairs to the bathroom to rinse the blood off.

"Woman," he called as she turned. She stopped in her tracks and turned back. He stood, looked her in the eyes, and somberly said, "Thank you." He paused, and then allowed his pride to bend just a little, "Thank you, Bulma."

She smiled gently. "You said my name." She turned to leave one more time, blushing a little.

Vegeta remembered the aphorism from a book on Bulma's shelf. It was a Latin poem, by Horace. Bulma had said the phrase one day, and as was routine, he raised an eyebrow to demand an explanation. "Carpe diem," she had told him.

"Seize the day," he whispered. He place a hand on her shoulder, and she looked back. For the first time in years, he threw his pride out the window, reached up and seized her lips in a gentle, yet passionate kiss.

Bulma froze in shock. She thought she knew Vegeta. She thought she understood the way he thought, but somehow her genius brain couldn't comprehend what he was thinking. All she knew was she liked it. She kissed back passionately, their lips moving in rhythm. He kept it brief. Red as a beet, he broke off the kiss and sat hastily on the couch. He turned on the television and looked pointedly away from her. Blushing as much as he was, she finally went upstairs. Carpe diem indeed.


	11. Chain Reaction

Chapter 11: Chain Reaction

Bulma walked up the stairs in a bit of a daze. Today had certainly taken an unexpected turn. She went to sleep angry at Yamcha, went to lunch with Vegeta and her mother, and then oh yeah, kissed Vegeta. Or would it be more accurate to say Vegeta kissed her? Well he had certainly initiated it, but she was equally at fault. She kissed him back. She went at him like he was water and she had been lost in the desert for a week. Bulma sighed. She didn't know when it happened, but she realized she'd been hoping for that for a while. The hypocrisy of her thoughts hit her like a freight train. She'd cheated on Yamcha. Admittedly she hadn't slept with Vegeta, but she felt the guilt settle uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. At least know she knew how Yamcha felt. If it was this easy to be ... distracted... from their relationship, then something was wasn't right. She turned on the shower, blazing hot, then stepped in. If she hoped the heat would make her feel better, she was wrong. Why was she so focused on this kiss, anyway? It wasn't like it changed anything between them. She still had Yamcha, and Vegeta was, well, still an ass. He'd fight the androids, maybe Goku too, and be out of her hair.

Bulma wrapped herself in a fluffy towel as she stepped out of the shower. Her phone glowed on the counter. Someone was calling. "Hello?" she answered tentatively.

"Bulma, babe. It's me," came the voice on the other end of the line. Yamcha. Just who she wanted to talk to right now, she thought sarcastically.

"Sorry to leave you hanging last night, darling. I messed up big time."

Yes, she thought. Yes you did. He continued the apology. "I completely forgot we had plans. Can you forgive me?"

Though the shower had relieved some of Bulma's troubled thoughts, the kiss still weighed on her mind. The guilt was as fresh and painful as any of Vegeta's wounds. "It's okay, Yamcha. It was an accident." She said nothing about the woman she had heard on yesterday's phone call. Who was she to criticize him for cheating, when she couldn't stop thinking about the man downstairs?

"Would you go on a date with me tonight? To let me know I'm forgiven?" he begged. Bulma agreed, though out of guilt or love she couldn't say.

She met Yamcha at one of her family's beach house. He had a movie for them, a cute romantic comedy, normally Bulma's favorite type of movies. Today, however, was another story. Her guilt was burning a hole in her chest. Yamcha had ordered sushi for them, and she reached for the wasabi with gusto, hoping the physical pain would silence the emotional pain. It didn't. The couple in the movie was bickering over the rights to live in a house, and had ended up living together. They fought every day, but clear sexual tension was building. Had it been this obvious for everyone except her and Vegeta? Was this what Chi-chi meant when she said Yamcha had a reason to be jealous? Did her friend see the truth of the situation while she remained blissfully ignorant? On the screen, the woman's best friend was sitting down with the main character and explaining the reality of the situation to her. Why did this movie insist on describing her life? The main character's ex, her dream lover who had dumped her, came over. He fell to his knees, saying how wrong he had been, and asking to get back together. She turned him down. She was in love with her roommate now. It was the right thing to do, the fictional woman explained. Bulma gulped. Was she leading Yamcha on now? Was she unintentionally dancing on the pieces of his soon-to-be-shattered heart? The couple in the movie kissed passionately, and Bulma reached for a spicy tuna roll, shoving the whole thing in her mouth. Yamcha turned, looking for a kiss. Bulma, conspicuously chewed, gently shooting him down. She sighed with relief as the credits rolled. The stupid movie had been a much more trying ordeal than she had thought. Unfortunately for her, there was a bonus scene at the end of the credits. It showed scenes from the characters' wedding. It was meant to be a humorous montage, but for Bulma, it far from funny. It was the last straw. The movie had won. The universe had won. Vegeta had won.

"Yamcha," she said, taking an unnecessarily long breath. "I can't do this anymore."


	12. What Doesn't Kill You

Vegeta was sound asleep on the couch when Bulma walked in. He slept through her opening the door and opening a beer. He only awoke when she flopped down in the chair next to him. "You smell like weakling," he commented sleepily. He glanced at the clock. It was only 7:00. "Back so early? Was it that easy to satisfy him?" he smirked, fishing for a response.

She shrugged, and took a big swig of beer.

Disappointed that she hadn't taken his bait, he continued to prod her. "You should have invited him over here. I need a punching bag since the gravity room is broken."

She nodded and finished off the beer. He raised an eyebrow. The woman usually responded when he insulted the weakling. What the heck had happened while he was asleep? Bulma disappeared for a minute as she grabbed a full case of her favorite beverage. She then vanished into her room leaving the saiyan alone with his questions.

Bulma was rudely awoken just minutes before her alarm by a loud repetitive noise from her backyard. Stepping out on her balcony, she assessed the situation. It was, of course, the usual source of her headaches: the arrogant Prince of all Saiyans, Vegeta. Even with the gravity room out of commission, a broken arm, a recently dislocated shoulder, and severe lacerations covering half his body, the stubborn alien insisted on training.

"Vegeta, you moron!" she yelled, as a form of greeting. "Do you want to hurt yourself even more?" He ignored her. Bulma, however, was far from an idiot, and knew exactly how powerful saiyan hearing was. He could hear her, alright. He was just being an ass. Sighing, she changed out of her pajamas and walked outside to the problem himself.

"Vegeta, if you keep training, you're only going to make your injuries worse." She tried to be patient, knowing he wouldn't be.

"Keep out of my way woman," he muttered as he continued his exercise.

Bulma took it as a challenge. She leaned against the tree he was methodically kicking, braving the splinters that flew through the air. "No," she insisted. "Train around me, or don't train at all. Honestly I think the second one is the smart way to go."

He continued to kick the tree, his hits intentionally drawing closer to the heiress. Bulma knew exactly how much control the prince had and knew she was perfectly safe. Vegeta wouldn't hurt her unless he meant to, and he wanted his gravity room too badly. She didn't budge, sensing her approaching victory. Giving up his physical intimidation strategy, he changed to verbal threats. "Woman, I swear if you don't move, I will kill you where you stand."

Unabashed, she shot back, "Vegeta, if you don't cut it out, I won't repair your gravity room."

He stared maliciously at her. Her impenetrable armor was now riddled with holes. "You what?" he growled dangerously, cornering her against the tree. Bulma shrunk under his intense glare, realizing her tactical error. She tried to hold fast, remembering her goal. "You heard me, Vegeta. I won't work on the gravity room while you're training."

"Fine. I shall simply have your father fix it." He resumed his exercises, ignoring the blue-haired woman.

Dammit, Bulma swore inwardly. He'd outwitted her. Out of options, the young genius thought fast, and kicked the smug prince right where it hurt: his injured leg. He winced and fell to his knees. "Now that you're done training for a while, I'll get started on that gravity room." She rushed, savoring the taste of victory, as he sunk to the ground clutching his leg.

Vegeta, furious at further injury to both his leg and his pride, limped back into the house. How dare the woman raise a hand (well... foot) against him? She'd forgotten her place. No, he'd allowed her to forget her place. If that shrew wouldn't let him train, he would make her change her mind. His sinister mind began hatching his revenge.

Bulma was elated. She'd fought the Prince of all Saiyans and been victorious, something most of her unnaturally powerful friends couldn't even claim. She grabbed a bagel for a quick breakfast and her trusty toolbox, then set to work inspecting the outside of the gravity room. The concrete was a little cracked, and would need some patch work, but had contained most of the explosive force of the decompressing nitrogen. She took a deep breath and opened the door. The floor was not as fortunate. That section of concrete would need to be completely re-poured. She went back outside and opened a small hatch next to the room. Bulma walked down the stairs into the housing that stored the cooling system. One of the tanks had blown. She knew that much. Unfortunately, it had also ruptured the two neighboring tanks. The good news was that the subterranean floor and walls were still mostly intact.

Now she had a plan of action. She would order her nitrogen tanks, and then call Goku. She needed someone with some muscle to help her carry and mix the concrete. Bulma made a mental note to have the saiyan use his instant transmission to bypass the house entirely, hopefully not alerting Vegeta. Who knew what the perpetually-angry alien would do when he saw his rival again...

Bulma had just opened the door when the yelling started. "Woman!" he hollered from the other room. She walked into the living room to see Vegeta laying on the couch, leg elevated. "Fetch me breakfast," he demanded. She scoffed. "Not with that tone, mister."

"Look, you wanted me to let my wounds heal, and now you want me get up to get food. Make up your mind, woman."

He had her there. "Fine," she conceded, allowing herself to be sidetracked. She wanted him healed and back to training, because frankly she was sick of playing nurse to the little ingrate.

Vegeta gave himself a point on today's mental scoreboard. Vegeta - 1, Woman - 1.

She brought Vegeta a few microwave dinners, and went back to work. She was almost to her lab, when she heard him hollering again. He wanted water. Annoyed, she did as the prince requested, and made another break for her lab. Too late. He was summoning her again. He'd peeled back one of the bandages on his leg. "Does this look infected?" he asked, feigning innocence. Ready to strangle him, she replied through clenched teeth.

"It's fine, Vegeta. Now leave me alone so I can fix your damn room."

He updated today's scoreboard. Vegeta - 3, Woman - 1. "Yes, woman. Go fix my room like a good little servant," he added as she walked away. She bit her tongue in rage, knowing that any response would validate his actions. Still, the prince was rather proud of himself. Match, Vegeta. He rolled off the couch and started doing one-handed push-ups. What she didn't know wouldn't kill her.


	13. Punch

**Hi everyone,**

**Thanks for sticking with this story! It really means a lot to me. **

**Also, sorry for the late update. One day isn't too bad, and it is my second longest chapter. Guilt absolved.**

**And plus, I'd be late on any updates to sing with Siedah Garret. Best. Tuesday. Ever.**

**As always, please review. I love criticism! It makes me better!**

**-Kanotari**

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><p>Bulma awoke with a screech as someone sat on her chest. His dark hair was unruly, as always, and his jet black eyes stared back into hers. His bright orange outfit assaulted her still sleep deprived eyes. "Goku, will you ever learn to use the door?" she asked, yawning widely, soaking in the morning sun. "Sorry Bulma," the excitable Saiyan replied, "I'm not that accurate with my instant transmission yet. Oh and Chi said to give you this." He held up the vase that she had painted with his wife earlier in the week. Bulma carefully placed it on her bedside table as Goku got off of her. Idiot though he was, he was still her friend, and she had missed him. "She also wanted to know if she could come help," Goku mentioned. Bulma nodded excitedly. She was glad he had come to help her with the gravity room. "Tell her she can bring Gohan too, if she wants." Goku nodded, placed his fingers on his forehead, and vanished, presumably to inform his wife.<p>

Unfortunately for Bulma, her mother barged into her room right as Goku left. She had heard everything. "Bulma, honey," her mother greeted her. "Why don't we have a little party? I'll invite all your friends!" Without waiting for an answer, she placed the armful of sheets she'd been delivering onto Bulma's dresser, and rushed off to prepare. Bulma shook her head, but knew better than to try and stop her mother once she was in party mode. Two hours later, the Briefs' backyard was busier than it had been since the Namekkians left. Dr. Briefs was barbecuing, while his wife served everyone drinks. Goku and Chi-chi had brought Gohan, but they were only part of the party. Bunny had called Master Roshi to invite him, Krillin, and Oolong. Krillin was munching on a hamburger, but Oolong had informed Roshi of a women's beach volleyball competition. Naturally the pig and the pervert chose the bikinis. She'd tried to reach Tien and Chaotzu, but they were off training in some barren wasteland. Same with Piccolo. Bunny also invited Yamcha, much to her daughter's chagrin. While the heiress was certainly brave enough to stand up to an angry Saiyan, she was terrified of telling her mother that she broke up with Yamcha. She shuddered as she pictured her sweet mother's rage upon hearing that no, she would not be receiving any grandchildren soon.

Chi-chi politely inquired after Launch. Krillin told her that the last he heard, she was with Tien and Chaotzu, but he hadn't seen her for a while. In response, he asked where Yamcha was. Bunny shrugged. He hadn't answered his phone. Chi-chi noticed Bulma turn an interesting shade at the mention of his name. She grabbed her friend's hand and brought her inside, out of everyone's hearing range. In Bulma's bedroom, the blue-haired heiress told her about their break-up. She explained that she had drifted away from him, and that he felt it too. Chi-chi shrugged. "That's not how I thought things would happen." That made Bulma curious. "Well?" she prompted. "I thought you'd call him out for cheating, and he'd deny it again. Or one of you would move on..." In reality, Chi-chi saw the way Bulma looked at her houseguest. She knew the older woman had a strange tolerance for his insults and went out of her way for him. She could tell that Bulma had feelings, of a sort, for the handsome, albeit arrogant, prince. Whether he felt the same, the housewife couldn't say. Chi-chi may have married a moron, but she was no fool. She knew Bulma was hiding something. The young wife couldn't see her friend breaking up with Yamcha without some big catalyst. Their relationship had been falling apart for years, but neither wanted to challenge their status quo. What on Earth had happened?

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><p>Vegeta lay on his bed, avoiding interaction with the inferior species. He listened to the woman's conversation through the wall. It wasn't entirely his fault; Saiyan hearing picked up many things he didn't necessarily want to hear. Today, however, the contents of the conversation piqued his interest. So the woman had ditched the weakling. That explained her unpredictable behavior lately. He felt a little guilty, after all, his moment of weakness was probably a factor, but wasn't necessarily displeased by the results. He had indirectly manipulated the woman to do just as he wished. The only thing that annoyed him was that she didn't tell the truth to the buffoon's mate. The foolish woman should be bragging about it!<p>

He rolled over and looked out the window. Speaking of buffoons, there he was: Kakarrot. The only other member of his race, and one of the few people to ever defeat him. God he hated him. The prince watched the low class warrior stuff his face with hamburgers and pasta salad. Vegeta swore that half the food missed the idiot's mouth. How had _that_ managed to attain Super Saiyan? He saw a flash of blue as Bulma and Chi-chi rejoined the party. Excellent, the woman was preoccupied. He chucked his shirt in a corner, and began training.

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><p>By nightfall, the party wrapped up and the concrete in the gravity room was setting. Bulma and her dad had just finished installing a new control panel, this one displaying nitrogen levels, in hopes of preventing future explosions. Bunny had dropped a few plates of leftovers off to Vegeta before the two parents crossed the yard to their home. Krillin left rather early. Apparently Roshi had injured himself trying to get a better view of the volleyball girls, and Krillin needed to help him. Goku used his instant transmission to take his family home; it was Gohan's bedtime. Bulma was alone at last. While her mother's spur of the moment party had been fun and productive, Bulma preferred to work in silence. She adjusted a few more valves on the fresh nitrogen tanks and went upstairs to test the gravity room. 1.5 times Earth's gravity had Bulma feeling like a cat squeezing into a jar it knows it's too big for. The room made a soft humming noise. Everything seemed to be okay. She turned off the machine and paused for a minute. Should she tell Vegeta that it was fixed? He'd insist on training in it, and aggravate his injuries. No, it might be dangerous, but she'd wait a day or two.<p>

For a genius, Bulma sometimes had a tenuous grasp on social situations. Seven years with Yamcha, and she still missed the fact that he didn't comprehend their break-up. It was clear as crystal, however, when Yamcha walked up to her door, rose in hand. Whether he had attributed her words to the stress of living with a violent alien prince, the pressures of inheriting her father's company, or the growing fear of the androids' appearance, she wasn't sure, but he clearly had missed the point.

"Yamcha, what are you doing here?" she asked, a little confused.

"Your mother invited me over for a party. Is it still going on?"

She shook her head. "Goku and Chi-chi just left. Sorry." She moved to close the door, but Yamcha put his foot in the way.

"Well then, can I take a pretty lady on a date instead?" he asked, proffering the rose. She pushed it away, gently, shaking her head. "We broke up, Yamcha. I'm not quite ready to go on dates again, and especially not with the person I just broke up with."

He looked rather confused at that. "I thought you were just mad at me, B."

"And why would I be mad at you?"

"I don't know. Maybe you found out about me and... nothing." His sentence tapered off as he realized that she might not know about his infidelities.

"Nothing... an interesting name for someone with such interesting morals."

Crap baskets! She knew, and judging from her all-too-nice tone of voice, she was beyond furious that he had tried to cover it up.

Embarrassed by her little slip in self-control with the Saiyan prince, she had tried not to confront Yamcha about his cheating. When he let it slip however, she couldn't hold back. "Tell me, Yamcha. Is she pretty?"

He shook his head, backing off a few steps when hit by her intense stare.

"Blonde, right? That's your usual type." He took a few more steps.

"Is she smart, or does she need help to tie her shoes like most of the other bimbos you've been with?" Her tears started to flow, stemming from grief and from rage.

"Was I not good enough for you?"

He tried to grab her hand in a gesture of comfort, but she turned away from him. He sighed, saying, " I realized my mistakes, Bulma. You're smart, no, brilliant. You're funny. You saved me back in the desert all those years ago. Can we go back to the way things were?"

"When, Yamcha? Before you got yourself killed? We were messed up back then."

Yamcha may not have been the Earth's most powerful defender, but he still had his pride, and Bulma had just attacked it. "Woah... wait, wait. I did not 'get myself killed'. Your pet alien had me killed."

Ignoring the 'pet alien' comment, she shot back. "You shouldn't have picked a fight you knew you couldn't win. You were standing between Vegeta and his only way to defeat Frieza. What did you expect?"

"Maybe I expected you to be grateful. I was trying to save the planet."

"Goku died in the fight with Radditz, and Piccolo lost an arm. Sure he regrew it, but last time I checked, you aren't a Namekkian. Then you charge in to try and beat not one, but two opponents stronger than him. Think of the consequences of your actions! You may have died 'honorably', whatever that means, but you died needlessly. You left me here without you."

He stared in disbelief. "I just don't get it, Bulma. I tried to stop that monster and his minion from destroying the planet, and somehow I'm the bad guy."

"You're not the bad guy, just a real moron sometimes."

"What was I supposed to do? Watch that creep annihilate another city looking for the Dragon Balls?"

"Yes, Yamcha. People who can't win fights have to be smart enough to avoid them. You tried to stop him, and you did, in fact, get yourself killed. I know technically Vegeta ordered Nappa to kill you. I don't condone his actions. They were awful, but he had a good reason. Besides, he has changed so much since Frieza died. He's not the same person."

"Tigers don't change their stripes, Bulma. For a genius, you can be so dense sometimes."

They both turned as they heard a noise from in the house. Their bickering had awoken the very subject of their argument. Vegeta stood in the doorway, not an arm's length from Bulma, wearing his default cocky expression. "If I were the same person, weakling, you would be dead and I would be laughing."

Yamcha frowned. This. This is what she had sided with over him.

"Well if it isn't Mr. Murderer himself? Looking for the blood of more innocents to feast on?"

Bulma was appalled. "Yamcha!" she admonished. "What is wrong with you?"

"No. What is wrong with you? Do you not care that he has killed millions of people, exterminated whole races? You just welcome him into your home and feed him like some stray puppy. He's not a puppy, Bulma. You stop feeding him and he'll rip you to shreds."

Bulma had often wondered if Vegeta put up with her quips only because he needed her technology to train. Would he just kill her off-hand the moment she had outlived her usefulness? Yamcha was digging into her mental wounds, and he knew it. She took a deep breath and reminded herself of everything she knew about the prince. Sure, he was arrogant, callous, rude, satirical, and so many other things, but he had also helped defeat Frieza. He was protecting them from the androids, though out of his drive to fight or the goodness of his heart she wasn't sure. Fine. She her logic was on shaky ground. But she was still alive. Her family was unharmed. Her friends were safe. Her planet was intact. Vegeta couldn't be all bad, could he? He could simply blow up the planet and not worry about the androids. Goku couldn't always be there to stop him. She caught Yamcha staring, wondering why she'd stopped arguing.

"Yamcha, Vegeta has nothing to do with what happens between us. I don't see why you brought him up. He is my problem, not yours."

"You hypocrite!" he shouted. "You tell me that I don't consider the impact of my actions on others, then you do the same thing. His presence threatens everyone you know."

Vegeta didn't give her time to respond. He stepped between the heiress and her former mate. "I suggest you leave, unless you actually want your presence to be threatened."

"I trained with King Kai the whole time you were blundering about on Namek. I worked myself to death while you waited around for the Namekkians to leave. I've pushed myself to the limit ever since I died. You don't scare me."

Vegeta laughed darkly. "Is that a challenge, human?"

"Damn right it is."

Blood dripped from Bulma's hands where her nails had punctured her palms as she made fists of rage. She had seen her friends die time and again. Their deaths flashed before her eyes as they had done before in so many of her nightmares. It was bad enough when some unbelievable evil crushed everyone she cared about. She couldn't let two people who meant so much to her destroy each other. Well, she couldn't let the potential savior of the Earth beat the living daylights out of someone she had once loved. Her left hand positioned itself on Vegeta's chest, her right on Yamcha's. "I refuse to let you two kill each other. Control yourselves!" she demanded. Vegeta brushed her hand off with no more effort than it took to squash a fly, quivering with battle lust. Yamcha simply stepped around her, dropping into a combat stance. "Shall we take this somewhere less... distracting?" he asked his opponent. "Gladly," Vegeta replied, lifting a few inches off the ground. The scar-faced ex-bandit replied in kind. "The backyard?" he offered.

Bulma couldn't take it anymore. She had seen Yamcha's rage eating at him ever since his humiliating defeat. He had trained to beat Vegeta ever since. She admitted that he was beyond the point of control. Vegeta, on the other hand, always had impeccable control. She had hoped he was beyond this kind of needlessly violent behavior.

"Vegeta, please," she begged, eyes imploring him. "Stop this." Against those bright blue eyes, the Prince of all Saiyans found himself powerless. To his own disbelief, he dropped back to the ground. "You are beneath me, weakling," he scoffed. "Consider this an act of mercy." A part of him wanted to beat the living daylights out of the puny human, yet another part told him that to do so in front of the woman was the height of foolishness. He felt himself walk back inside, letting the human call insults after him.

"That's right, you alien scum. Just run away. I'll kick your ass any day of the week. All you have to do is ask."

Bulma punched Yamcha, right in the jaw. "You ass!" she screamed, self-control forgotten. "Why would you provoke him like that? He could crush you with one hand tied behind his back!"

"Maybe you're right Bulma. I couldn't win that fight, but I would have given it my all. There is no shame in losing like that."

"I don't give a rat's ass whether you win or lose, Yamcha. Can't you see that? Think about me. Think about our friends. I was a wreck after you died, and so were they. You charged in without a thought beyond protecting your stupid ego. I'm done with you. Get out of here." She pointed to the street.

"Fine. I came here trying to save our relationship, but now I realize I was being an idiot. We haven't had a good relationship in years. Good bye, Bulma. I'll see you when the androids show up."

His last sentence got to her. All her talk about not dying uselessly, and he still planned to fight them. She would have to watch him die again, this time without the Dragon Balls to bring him back. She slammed the door in his face. He knew he was just throwing his life away. Again. He knew he was abandoning her. Again.


End file.
